Reasons unknown

You want to know about 'my dark past'. You tell me that you want to hear of the little morsels of pain that kept me up at night, you say you want to hear about the things that hurt me so that you will never be one of them.
I don't know how.
You can trail your lips over every scar staining my arm but you will never taste the acid tears burnt into them as they healed. You can kiss the lips that had been bruised by force, but you will never feel the stab of fear in your stomach, you will never touch the hope in my eyes as I looked to the elevator, waiting for my hero to come. I will make sure of it.
I can't make you understand how I regulate my voice so that it betrays none of the stutter remembering brings. The things I felt fall flat in words, but the aching of my chest, the stammering of my heartbeat, the unbearable tingling of my fingers as I bit back the frailties behind my eyelids are never things that I can express completely. I choose not to. I laugh when I speak of them, I laugh to glaze over my scabs, so that you do not see, so do you not see the ruins I am in, so that you do not know that I was a handful of fragments before I met you and now? Now you have sewn me together, and I owe you my life.