They tell you a lot about damaged people. About how you shouldn’t romanticize pain and heartbreaks. How loneliness and betrayal are the worst things to endure. But I will stick to my end of it. There’s beauty in destruction. Painted melancholy has an undeniable rhythm to it. No one can go unscathed, no one can outrun it. We all crumble into a rubble in a manner so alluring, it is breathtaking. It is in those wreckage that we find ourselves, entangled in our very bones. In your own eyes, you see the sweet release of life and this chaos will make sense again.