I can’t save you

I’ve noticed a pattern in my romantic relationships.

Several women I’ve loved have been the victims of abuse.

I wanted to save them.

I wanted to show them they were worthy of love.  That they had value.

I thought if I told them how wonderful they were they would see that I was right.  They would see how beautiful they were, inside and out.  They would see themselves the way I saw them.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t enough.

I failed them.

I wanted to be the knight in shining armor.  To ride in on my white horse.  To slay the dragon and save the damsel in distress.

I’m really just a scared little boy.

My armor is made of cardboard and paper.  My horse is a broomstick.  My sword is made of wood.

I’m sorry.

I can’t save you.

I’m not even sure I can save me.