Confession: I Saw Myself in Your Darkness

I didn't love you for your light.
I loved you because your shadows looked like mine.

I saw myself in your darkness.
In your pain,
in your brokenness,
in your shadows.

I didn't love you for your light—
I loved you for your darkness,
because it matched mine,
because it understood mine,
because it recognized mine.

Your shadows looked like my shadows.
Your pain felt like my pain.
Your brokenness matched my brokenness.

And in that recognition,
in that understanding,
in that shared darkness,
I found comfort.

I found someone who understood,
who didn't judge,
who didn't try to fix me,
who just accepted me,
shadows and all.

But darkness attracts darkness,
and broken calls to broken,
and wounded finds wounded.

And when two broken people come together,
they don't heal each other.
They break each other more.
They drag each other deeper into the dark.

I saw myself in your darkness,
and you saw yourself in mine,
and we fell in love with our reflections,
not with each other.

We loved the brokenness,
the pain,
the darkness,
because it was familiar,
because it was safe,
because it was home.

But home isn't supposed to be darkness.
Home isn't supposed to be pain.
Home isn't supposed to be brokenness.

So here's my confession:
I saw myself in your darkness,
and I loved you for it,
because I loved the broken parts of myself,
and your brokenness validated mine.

But darkness doesn't heal darkness.
Broken doesn't fix broken.
Pain doesn't cure pain.

We were two broken people,
trying to make each other whole,
but only making each other more broken.

I saw myself in your darkness,
and I loved you for it,
but I should have loved you for your light,
even if it was dim,
even if it was hidden,
even if it was hard to find.

Darkness is comfortable,
but it's not healing.
Brokenness is familiar,
but it's not whole.

I saw myself in your darkness,
and I loved you for it,
but maybe I should have loved you
despite it,
or in spite of it,
or because of something else entirely.

I saw myself in your darkness,
and I loved you for it,
but maybe that wasn't love at all—
maybe it was just recognition,
maybe it was just comfort,
maybe it was just the familiarity of brokenness.

I saw myself in your darkness,
and I loved you for it,
but maybe I should have loved you
for your light,
for your wholeness,
for your healing.

But I didn't.
I loved you for your darkness,
because it matched mine,
and that's why we broke.