Isn't it weird?

Under all of our exteriors, we're all delicate and vulnerable, easily breakable stuff.

(Handle with care)

(Fragile)

He may be a walking, talking, breathing cliché, but he is still as vulnerable as me.

Or maybe even more?

If your exterior is hard, that shell of yours, does it mean your insides are soft?

Not soft like a pillow, all fluffy and sweet.

I mean, soft like decaying fruit. Soft like mush. Like a corpse.

(Both fruit and corpses invite flies. Two ends of the spectrum meet in the middle, huh?)

Or maybe all of this is to excuse my own fragility.

I will break if you squeeze me. I'll break into a million shiny little pieces that will pepper the floor and cut your feet and your hands and some of them will stay there even after you try to clean me up because a part of me will always-

Well, yeah.

It's so obvious it's dumb.

But it's still weird.

(Can I make myself less vulnerable? Less prone to shattering? Or is it our default state?)

He's vulnerable.

Why does that make me like him less?