|
| |
They Offer You Certainty As If It Is Not A Thing They Broke
Can you trust someone you have doubted in the past? It feels like asking a cracked mirror to show you the truth. Like setting your compass to a magnet and pretending the direction still means something. The apology might come, just in velvet, but still, you remember how cold the knife felt even before it was in your back. There is a difference between forgiveness and forgetting. One is a process, the other is selective amnesia. When you have doubted someone, it is because something inside you whispered before they said a word. It was in the way their eyes did not match their mouth, or how their silences were louder than their promises. Trusting again is like rewriting the room after the fire. The lights might turn back on, but do you really forget the burn marks on the walls? It is the same reason ancient maps drew sea monsters where the knowledge ran out. Not just because they believed in beasts, but because danger loves to hide in the places we have already been. There is a rhythm in betrayal that does not stop beating just because the music changed. You hear it when they say your name too sweetly, and when they offer you certainty as if it is not a thing they broke. You wonder if the sun is real, or just the same old lamp behind a new curtain. Trust does not mean letting go. It just means carrying the weight differently. It means letting them stand close again, but watching their hands this time. It is planting something new in soil you have already seen go dry. It is knowing the stars look the same from every side of the world, even though their names change.
Copyright ©
Amanda Nolan
|
|