It's the same thing every time. At first you seem to have it all together. You're sturdy and reliable, and when things seem like too much I'm amazed by how easily you just roll with it. I don't mind when you get clingy. In fact, it's one of the things I like best about you. Sure, you have sharp edges. And sometimes those sharp edges cut me and cut me deep. But I forgive you, every time, because I know that one day soon I'll be needing to rely on you again.
But it never lasts. Soon you become broken and torn. Once sturdy, you fall apart at the edges and you no longer hold up under even the slightest pressure. Even your sharp edges go dull over time. Yet inside you I know there's still a lot left to give. I fumble trying to get you to come out of yourself, but you just seal it all in. I could discard you but I don't because there are still so many things for us to cover. For weeks I try to coax you from within your fragile shell, but you begin to fail me every single time and I curse you for your awkwardness. In the end, I get wrapped up in hate for you, hoping each time I see you that soon you'll have nothing left to give so I can move on to the next one.
Oh, plastic wrap. The cycle continues.