Can Broken Be Beautiful?

When I was younger, I used to think that the world would be kind. That I was special. We all thought like that once. My mother said one day I would be blown off my feet by a handsome prince, that I would be a princess. Lies, lies, lies. I would search up how to stop my depression, only to find out there was no cure. I would write letters to the people I most cared about, for one day, I would be gone. My mother told me I was beautiful, as mother's so often do, but how can something so... delicate, broken, shattered, be beautiful?