Miguel

”I love you.”

Miguel’s heart sputters, breath faltering as a fleeting feeling of warmth pulses through him. And yet, even in that wrap of comfort he can not help but think that he does not deserve you — deserve this feeling of sanctity after everything he’s done. He’s pushed you away over and over again, shut you out and refused help because he is afraid. Maybe it’s pathetic, but this shelter is his and it is all he knows. So he’ll continue to build on that wall. He just isn’t sure how much longer he can keep it up.

“¿Pero por qué?”

Is all he can manage, voice escaping him in but a rasped whisper, too broken for his liking. He stares down at his hands, posture slumped as his gaze trains on his talons. All he can think about is how much of a monster he is. He wants to be better. He wants to so badly, but Gods, he just can not break down his own walls. It is himself that rips away at his conscious — only he can save himself, and yet he finds himself calling to you. Maybe he just wants to hear your voice, whispering to him that it’s okay.

It isn’t. But he needs it.

“You keep telling me that. Keep saying I love you, but I haven’t said it back. I won’t — I.. can’t.”

Miguel goes silent for a brief moment of time, every second too long. He can’t think, and all he wants to do is push again. To close off again into this delusion of safety he’s made for himself — this shell.

“I can’t love you.”

He murmurs, and he can feel a piece of himself grow absent. He loves you, fiercely, but he can not express it truly and healthily. He is a broken man — one whom has been unfixable for years.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Dios mío, somebody save him.