I’ve said it before, but it appears it bears repeating. Honesty is more important to me than nearly anything else. No matter if you’re afraid of what I’ll think, or you’re trying to protect me.
Lie to me once, and lose me forever.
Reblogging this, as time has shown it still bears repeating. I am learning that the simplest desires can be the hardest to secure.
Sometimes love means giving a piece of yourself to a person, and sometimes you don’t ever get it back. I suppose the best we can do is trust where we can and take risks and hope that the good people do to us outweighs the bad. That what is left of ourselves at the end of the day is enough of a real person. Damaged, but enough.
The praxis, however, is a little more cruel. Each time that this profound trust is forfeit, I lose some of my capacity to trust again. To feel again. It is not frequent, but it is devastating.
I grow colder, and harder, and meaner. My doubt fuels my cynicism, the vice I have fought and learned to keep at bay. I retreat into myself, a little more a stranger and a little less whole. I drift. I wait. I hurt others before they have the chance to hurt me. I look in the mirror without enough recognition for evaluation. I become a better enemy.
You will also look more like a stranger to me, my friend. I am changed. I will pause and search for a flicker of deceit behind your eyes, a flash of pretense in your tone. When you tell me that you love me, I will swallow the words as they hang in the air. I will shield myself and become what I hate, my own truth and feelings will be safeguarded by lies.
I will walk past doors I would have opened. My smiles will be emptier. My drinks will be doubles. I will do the wrong things, for the wrong reasons.
I will take a new gamble, this time, and hope that it is not myself I lose forever.
I will never feel safe.