I’m not ready to have my heart ripped from between my still breathing lungs; not ready to remove the lock that holds in all the hurt and anger you left behind when I had to walk away. I’m not ready to face the possibility of letting you back in. I’m not ready to be vulnerable again.

Your betrayal cut deeper than you knew. You were the one person I could really tell anything to. My fears and dreams, but most of all my fantasies and deepest regrets. I thought you wouldn’t dare judge me because I knew the same about you. Too late, I realized I was wrong. I can still feel your anger and taste the contempt bred from what might have been once just a miscommunication. But miscommunications are easily fixed. And this isn’t. You have been replaced, but never again by one person. I blame you for my caution now, my fear to take that risk on someone, a single one, new and fresh and willing to hold the cup to catch my blood when it falls, to drink deep my soul as it pours from my eyes like the torrents of the ocean. You are responsible for my certainty that even those closest to me can and will eat me alive given the chance. The guards are in place around the clock because of you. Kings have been brought down by their most trusted advisers, the history books are full of the oldest stories. I once thought you wouldn’t. I think better now.

You think that you can insinuate yourself back to your cozy little inside position, slowly, working at the edges, little by little, day by day, month by month, convince me it’s okay to trust, to walk on the bridge, you’ll catch me if I fall, if the bridge breaks, before the rushing river opens up and swallows me in my own tears. How can you know that I still see through you? I still see the insecurity. You still can’t see the pain. Who knows who better now? Does it matter, did it ever, should I just give in, at least appear to, to let you in but still keep the doors locked tight, not risk so much. But I know that the first step will be the hardest and I’m too soft to hold up. Soon, too soon, before I can stop, you’ll be back, picking the lock, working the secrets out through the keyhole.

I’m not ready for my heart to be broken again. You try to convince me you’re really back, that it will all be okay, but how can I know? You never knew you left to begin with.


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