But what kind of barbed love could I offer her? I’m
broken, shattered like a mirror of lies. She would try to
pick up my pieces and only cut her delicate fingers on
them. Any love I could give her would hurt her more,
when all I want to do is heal her. I want to build her
back up, not tear her down with me. She is too
That’s the magic of revisions— every cut is necessary, and every cut hurts, but something new always grows.