You can be the best person you can be for someone. You can devote your sacred time to polishing their mundane. You can save them from where the avalanches pelt down like falling ashes, rescue them from where the magma chases like jungle predators; but, you can’t make them forget the way the flash waves blur into headaches, the way the heat strokes at night demand vigilance in the dark, the way the polarizing bolts of anxiety struck a crack in their sculptured image. You cannot be their hero or their shield. The self-hate is already traced over their faded lines and there’s no way to make erasures out of their regret. “To make them happy:” your mind can fixate itself on that goal. Every decision you make, a calculated step towards making them smile and that still won’t make them happy. You may lye on the clouds where the…