a simpler collection

trust and strings

no one told me how hard it would be. no one told me that you would leave. no one told me that you would rip my heart out in the process. no one told me that you didn't love me and that I was nothing more than a distraction. but that's not what bothers me. I'm over you, I promise. the only thing I can't get over is that my heart aches. not because I loved you, not because I was nothing to you, but because you took so much from me. trust is fragile subject, written in our hearts yet held by the thinnest string. you cut that string. when you left, I seemed to loose the rest. I don't love you, I did love you. the thing that scares me, keeps me up at night, is that I am scared. I'm scared to love again. scared to be free in the hands of a saint, the person trying to mend that broken string. my mind will continue to think what you made me believe; "you don't really love me. I'm just here until the tides break and in the morning you'll disappear into the fog and I'll never see you again." it's not fair. I shouldn't have to think this. the saint should get all of my trust, but frankly i can't give it to them. my mind will continue to think that they will leave one day and that I'll be nothing but a faint memory to them. what happens when the saint does care? what happens when the saint does love? what happens when they want to stay, give me everything, yet I can't even give them a concept as simple as trust? I'm trying so hard to mend the broken strings myself but sometimes it seems impossible. so the next time you set your sights on a flower, make sure the love you admit is nothing but pure. make sure that your love helps them grow and flourish. make sure you tie the strings that hold their trust; not cut them. I wish you well, I wish you the world. I'm doing fine, but only time will tell if I leave the fear behind and flourish under a new light.