Scars Remind Us That The Past Was Real

Trust is funny.

I mean, it's seemingly always there, unnoticed.

Until it's not.

Then, it becomes this immense, gaping hole where something critical used to be.

Suddenly, you find yourself looking around and wondering when the world started closing in on you.

And how such an event was able to trespass unnoticed.

And not only do you start to question the world in which you thought you knew, you begin to question yourself as well.

Am I really this daft?

I mean, is it really this easy to convince me of untruth, so much so that I would be willing to bet my life on something as unconcrete as words?

And then, the doubt spreads.

It invades the other aspects of your thought that you once held sacred, it infests the other areas that you thought were protected.

Worse of all, it makes a villain of the very thing that proved to you that trust is in fact, this fragile.

It takes all the evil of the uncertainty and darkness you are now shrouded in and reincarnates itself as something you once held in regard.

Only now, it has been defaced.

It has been disfigured. 

It has been ruined.

And nothing you do can reverse it.

Now, you either take it as it is, in it's less than state, or you leave it behind and remember what it used to be.

You chose to settle, or you chose to break.