Darling, I beg you not to hide your tattered hems from my view.
I know the other girls may have told you they were unsightly, that you should be fixed, replaced, or thrown out all together.
Perhaps they said you were ruined or too damaged to be repaired; inevitably walking away leaving you worse then they had found you.
Oh, but dear heart if I could give you my eyes if only for a moment.
Your strength and beauty astounds me.
You are not torn apart but slowly healing from the many daily battles you fight in silence.
They are battle scars, my love, you should wear them with honor.
I see the wisdom in your mercy filled eyes, the fights you lost brought understanding that a constant victor never receives; such a calm quiet courage sits there.
Oh, and how I love your laugh lines. I know some say they age you but, I know you have earned them in the midst of sorrow, letting your joy and happiness carve itself on your skin; it is something so captivating to me.
You say you are scared you will never come clean enough for another, that you will only soil those you get close to.
You say you fear being too destroyed to be salvaged, unable to be sewn back together, unable to be attached to another without coming apart again.
Oh but dear one, that was never a job for us to fulfill. Let me show you my edges that have been frayed for years and the stains that set in long ago.
Let us go together to the one who can fix all, the taylor who can mend even the most beautifully broken.
Let him patch us back together.
A new creation from ripped clothing.
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