This Too, I Trust

Colorful autumn forest (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Oh, I trust you just fine.

I just don’t trust the devil in you.

I trust you told everyone that I stole your beloved.

I trust you believe this very filth, this black pigment that’s crowding your imagination, because you refused to reflect on a lifetime of loyalty.

Is it because you stole someone else’s beloved and needed cheap thrills so no one would point fingers at you? Did you honestly think that evergreens and deciduous trees cannot be distinguished from each other?

Or is it because you’re living your guilt through my clean conscience?

Some twisted form of ying to yang?

Or that you always needed a target to pit your angsts against, and who better than the one who you know will come back regardless of the dirt you throw in her face?

These questions I have asked too, and their answers I have come to understand, internalize.

In short, trust.

Oh, I trust you. I truly do.

Just like I trust that the sun will set today, tomorrow, the next day.

I just don’t trust the devil in you, the netheral regions of your brain.

The part that makes you a pathological, needy, truth-twisting person.

The part which doesn’t even allow you to go an hour on your own solitude.

The very devil, who creates a web of lies to validate your rose-tinted cookie-cutter delusions.

Oh, I trust you just fine. I trust that after two decades, I am assumed to have invested naught but time.

I trust also, that when you leave, you will indubitably fabricate whatever lies are necessary to attract the next person who will believe you to be intact.

Who you will believe to be intact. And I trust too, that you will eventually rip them apart.

As soon as you realize they are not super-humans.

Seven years, was it, this cycle? Well, I endured you for more than triple seven.

Hence, your only temporal miracle.

That too, I know.

This too, I trust.

And that means you have come to think I am immune to the lies, the vicious realities that have arisen from your incapability to trust in anyone, even yourself?

That too, I know.

This too, I trust.

That I have no boundaries for the ways in which you can hurt me.

That too, I know.

This too, I trust. Oh yes, I trust you completely.

I trust you like the way I trust that poison can kill.

Just like I trust the devil inside my own self.

The one that allows me to forgive the dirty lies.

The one that has allowed you to continue with your condescensions unchecked, to continue to treat me like the scum that feeds on the bacteria of a rabied dog.

I trust you like I trust that once you let someone get away with treating you horribly, they may never realize how invaluable you are, because they never valued you in the first place.

Oh, I do trust you. I will trust your beauty till the day I die.

Oh, I trust you just fine.

I trust that while I mourn and wail, you laugh, you ridicule me, you toast to your own apathy.

That too, I know.

This too, I trust. While I trust you,

I trust I will continue to forget that the roots of the words “pathetic” and “apathy” are one and the same.

And so I trust the devil inside you exists, because it’s there, and it’s finally become stronger than your light.