...Even scraps left on the plate have a purpose. Remember?
[It's a quiet response. Every word he tries to give back stays at that level, a careful treading of a tense silence filled with hurt.]
...I wish I had an answer for you. You've said you keep being told to make other people who you need to live for. But... whether it's somebody else or something else, nobody can choose that anchor for you. Even if everyone's been telling you over and over that it has to be other people... it doesn't.
Maybe it can just be making it to your next birthday. Making it to the weekend. Making it past whenever he thought you might fall, even. Fuck him.
[His hand lifts, from palm to jawline, extremely hesitant. To acknowledge the turning away, to not force it back, and still say he's there.]
He was never right. There's a Morgan right here that's enough for a lot of people. He's just not enough for himself. But... dammit, Morgan, you're trying. And you're trying because you know at least something out there can keep you going.
If it can work for one awful son of a bitch that deserves to be six feet under, then there's something on that plate of yours that can find something else that makes you happy or makes you feel like you belong here. Even if you need some help or it takes a long time.
[His fingers curl against the line of his jaw, so only the knuckles run. An easy pull away.]
You're not helpless. No matter how much has been taken.
Don't let him take every last drop of you by convincing you otherwise.
cw: oblique suicidal ideation
...Even scraps left on the plate have a purpose. Remember?
[It's a quiet response. Every word he tries to give back stays at that level, a careful treading of a tense silence filled with hurt.]
...I wish I had an answer for you. You've said you keep being told to make other people who you need to live for. But... whether it's somebody else or something else, nobody can choose that anchor for you. Even if everyone's been telling you over and over that it has to be other people... it doesn't.
Maybe it can just be making it to your next birthday. Making it to the weekend. Making it past whenever he thought you might fall, even. Fuck him.
[His hand lifts, from palm to jawline, extremely hesitant. To acknowledge the turning away, to not force it back, and still say he's there.]
He was never right. There's a Morgan right here that's enough for a lot of people. He's just not enough for himself. But... dammit, Morgan, you're trying. And you're trying because you know at least something out there can keep you going.
If it can work for one awful son of a bitch that deserves to be six feet under, then there's something on that plate of yours that can find something else that makes you happy or makes you feel like you belong here. Even if you need some help or it takes a long time.
[His fingers curl against the line of his jaw, so only the knuckles run. An easy pull away.]
You're not helpless. No matter how much has been taken.
Don't let him take every last drop of you by convincing you otherwise.