Trust.

 

How can I trust you and how will I know if you are someone that I can open my heart to? You see I know nothing about you and I have been hurt by those that I thought I knew everything about.

 

I look into your soft eyes and watch your gentle mouth and I wonder if I can believe what they say. Are you really what you say you are, are you really who I think you are. Your lips move and I hang on the sound, trying to decipher the truth or the lie. I secretly check your heart rate when you think I am held in close to see if it races or pauses or falls in time with the words.

 

It’s a name and an age and the odd tit bits of truth. Odd dribs and drabs of this and that that I try to piece together like a spider’s web to form a whole that can catch the truth.

 

My family would tell me I’m mad and insane and that you could be a male prostitute with a history of violent crime and a girlfriend. That is if I could trust myself enough to tell them. My friends may even trust my judgement even if I don’t trust myself.

 

I don’t trust myself not to care, to care too much that I bind you with me with cords of love and dependency, to take your heart and your soul and make them my own. I don’t trust myself not to wound you and sear your dreams with pain and discomfort. I don’t trust myself not to bolt out the door at the first sign of kindness or of joy, but strangely enough I trust you.