Trust. It is such a delicate thing. It takes a long time to build it and only a moment to break it. So fragile, so delicate, so easily shattered.
I have always had trouble trusting people. I have been hurt so badly by those I trusted in the past, by those I should have been able to trust but never could. My mother, the greatest betrayer, she started it all. Those I grew up with, thought of as friends, they betrayed me too. Between them all, they have instilled in me an unwillingness to trust, a belief that in doing so I will only find more hurt.
Their lessons were good ones. It holds true. I try, from time to time, to trust people, believe in my friends, but each one of them knocks down the shaky construction sooner or later.
Why must they do that, I wonder? Is there some satisfaction in it for them? Do they delight in tearing down that which they have built? Does faith hold so little meaning for them?
I was angry before, but now I am simply saddened. I chose wrong again. I am a fool who picks the wrong people to become close to. Perhaps they are right, Davick and Drevorin. Perhaps my tentative belief in faith is another sign of my stupidity. I do not want to believe them, jaded as they are, but it becomes harder and harder to keep my own beliefs when all those around me prove them to be false.
Yet, is listening to the words of these men not a sign of trust in them?
Drevorin has given me his word, but can I trust him to keep it? Do I have any choice? It is far from wise, I fear, to put much faith in the words of a man like him. Yet, somehow, some way, I am more trusting of what he has said in this moment than I am of my friends who let me down time and again.
Davick is another matter entirely. He I can trust, right? He has never let me down. He has kept his word to me from the start and not once has he deviated from it. Even now, when I have disappointed him so greatly.
Trust, though. Trust. It is a wonderful thing to know you can trust in someone. It makes one feel less alone to have a person to turn to. It makes the world that bit brighter, less claustrophobic to be able to confide your fears, woes, joys, triumphs and secrets, to listen and be listened to. Burdens ease when there is someone to share them with.
It hurts though, and terribly, when the one you turn to proves untrustworthy. It shakes ones confidence, not only in that person but in the others too. Is it worth it? For them? For me? Do I dare try opening up to anyone ever again?
