Window of Trust

A soul can only be seen through a glass window of trust; trust someone and they'll see right through you; if you don't, all they get are wispy shadows...

The lesson we learned: Never trust anyone, not even yourself. Or that trust will create an broad entrance into your heart.

It makes you vulnerable.

Easy to prey on, to tear apart. And that pain will be greater than anything else. The agony of knowing you lured yourself into a trap and had to pay the dreadful price.

But we are all too human; we can talk and talk for hours, yet when the time comes... we are rendered helpless against our humanity, our flaws, our weaknesses.

We all thought she was on our side - that she understood us... that she knew us. And she could be trusted.

But we thought wrong. She turned on us, and that was worse than a stranger attacking us... because we knew her. Or at least, we used to think we knew her. And that she knew us.

She'll never understand what she did to us that overall average day that turned all too bitter when she revealed her true colours, and none of us will ever trust her enough again to tell her so. A few more walls of the mazes in our minds collapsed upon themselves, crushing passages of the past, making room for the future.

It was all too good to be true. We learned our lessons, and we'll never underestimate anyone again. But the damage has already been done. She has left a scar that will never heal, and whether she meant it or not, that anguish will remain for eternity.

And even though she's still a part of our lives, we're much more distant now - as if all of a sudden, a canyon has separated us. Anything that remains is awkward silence and brief, polite words. That alone seems too much.

Sometimes I wonder if this world is completely against us - everything turns from pure joy to indifferent sorrow. Often, I wonder where we lost the answers.

I wonder... where we went wrong. There were times we knew everything and doubted nothing. And now it's all up in smoke.

She took our trust, and crushed it. Did it ever mean anything to her? I wish I could say it never meant anything to us. But I can't - none of us can.

Her hands are stained with the blood of betrayal... the blood our souls have been tainted with.

The window - broken, cracked, even shattered beyond repair. All because of her sinister and cowardly games. That window will never mend or be replaced - and we bleed from the sharp glass shards biting into our hearts.

An icy fist had crushed that window.