There is true terror in me now. The fear I feel is in mammoth quantities. There are few times when I am not thinking about it. I have placed in your hands a piece of me. It is part of my mind, part of my heart, part of my soul. It was a hard thing to let go of, even if it's only for a little while, knowing how fragile it is. But I think it will hard for you, too, just to look at it.
It is worn, it's pages dog-eared and torn. There are scratches and gashes and holes the way through. Stains colour it where you least expect it. And, still, I've given this piece to you.
Why did I do it? What made me decide? Did you really need to know what I've fought so hard to hide? Yes, I think you did need to know and I think it's only right that I should share all of me with you. So now I will have no secrets from you, I will give you my all because I know, without your hand to take, I will surely fall.
But please, take care of that piece you hold, see it for what it is: see it as a world of hope, of hate, of love, of grief. See all my faults, examine every flaw, dissect every thought that you should know me better. Once you have done all this, you can know whether you wish to give me back my heart, or whether perhaps you want to hold onto it a little longer, to help you decode the rest of me.
If you choose to hand it back, do so gently, and I'll not blame you. It is not a perfect creation and neither am I. Who would want something as mangled and maimed as me and my soul? Who would keep hold of a deranged mind like mine? Who could bear to be near a weak and blackened heart like mine? No, I would not be surprised in the least if you didn't want to keep it.
However, if you choose to keep it, please be even more gentle; I am such a tender creature and I injure easily. That small piece of me that you hold is existentially connected to the rest of me. Without one, the other ceases to be. Destroy my mind and I'll be driven mad for all the beasts left there. Break my heart and I'll have nothing to love you. Burn my soul and the demons will come out to play, free of their prisons and leashes. After all that, I can only hope to live to speak of it. But my existence would be pointless.
So be kind with me. Please.