I am still saving myself from the last time you came knocking at my door. I shattered my wrists to catch myself from falling. After you left, I patched up my own ribcage, bone by broken bone. The truth is, I stopped saying sorry a while ago. I figured out that I was never built to be fragile. I was made from fire, beautiful but annihilating. You didn’t understand that I was not meant to love, I was meant to burn. And I will light the world on fire with my matchstick heart.