Caring Too Much

Disease or Cure

I admit this freely.

I cried when Quentin Coldwater died in The Magicians. I read the book and knew that ending was all wrong.

The TV writers knew it too. They banked the ashes that Regret leaves behind in a cold hearth.

They let him slip away Reaching for the woman he loved.

Mental illness can strip away your dignity, but it can’t take away love.

When hope is gone and psychotic breaks splinter your mind in the Mirror that is Self.

Love dazzles and illuminates the splendor of every life you touched and touched you.

Ashes rise up the chimney. Filter onto your mask. Make your eyes weep.

Those couldn’t be tears. You are too tough for them.

I’ve visited the broken in the two-key facility. I’ve been raised by those who have left the two-key facility.

These visionaries understand the heart and can hold it in their hand, while their mind regenerates.

Love is stronger than hope. It bonds to any situation and rekindles purpose — even after a hurricane.

What’s wrong with caring too much? When it’s my best self. Just try and stop me.

Inspired by @aaronharme in the last paragraph