He spreads his hands, helpless, and asks What else do we have? Who else do we have? and he’s right, I know he’s right, but If he hurts her… to which he sighs, weary, the struggle clouding his pale eyes, and replies He is irreparably broken; he can’t be fixed, can’t ever be trusted not to destroy or self-destruct; all I can do – all we can do – is give him a safe space in which to be broken an excuse I’ve heard so many times before, yet when once I’d have gone willingly with this sacrifice I can’t now, not when there’s more than myself to lose, so He doesn’t want to be sheltered I counter he wants to be sane and before he can argue You do him no good treating him like he’s made of glass; give him room to flex his wings and we’ll see how broken they really are and for once he has no reply, just a grimace of disagreement and the unspoken knowledge that this road is long and painful for us all, yet as I turn away he mutters Can you blame me, for fearing to hurt him further? to which I reply Can you blame me for fearing the same?


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