Somehow

It's all okay; I'll still live my life. I'll smile tomorrow, I'll laugh a lot too, but I can't help but wonder what I'd be doing with you.
Neither you nor I are perfect- but somehow you made my flaws seem like the part of me that should be retained, and not the part that needed to be changed.
You touched me somewhere deep inside. I was comfortable; from you and myself I felt no urge to hide.
I know it wasn't love, but only because you said you'd seen it before. And in our togetherness you saw the dearth of that so much more.
I fool myself into thinking I'm getting tougher. Even so, the path to that satisfaction keeps getting rougher.
I will never stop doubting I was born to be wounded. Just look at what trusting someone too soon did.
I'll break soon enough, my strength will vanish. My reflection is inadequate, my being incomplete. But no matter how weak, I want not to be alone, to know what it's like to stand on my own two feet.
There are those sodden ones who try so hard and sometimes manage to understand. I will live harder for those who wish I were to hold their hand.
They see my merit; and I'm sure you do too. I've been told to have that much faith in you.
But they're still here, watching me live, laugh and lie. But from that distance you couldn't possible know if I was even getting by.
You felt my walls crumble around me, even though you hadn't tried hard to get in. Your voice had stuck out from the surrounding concerned din.
You saw the soft centre amidst the boundaries stuffed with tenacity. I didn't even need to prompt you to discover me.
And yet there you are, clouding my sub conscience. And I'm bearing the brunt of feeling this nonsense.