You hurt me.
Or maybe I hurt you, too. I don't know anymore.
I forgave you for that. I know I tried. I hope you forgave me too.
But when it came to trying again, when it came to putting myself at your mercy...
I held back. I couldn't give you that power.
I'd been hurt once.
That's not even all the way true. I'd been hurt a lot of times.
I'm not sure you even cared.
I was afraid to trust you. I was afraid to be hurt.
Because, you see, the words you spoke and the things you did, they didn't match up.
I didn't know how to separate the truth from the lies anymore, and I wearied of trying.
I am not a very discerning person. I am often fooled, often hurt.
Some people call that gullible. Some people ridicule that and make me feel that believing people is a shortcoming.
Maybe it is. Maybe it's naivete to hope for and believe in the possibility of the good.
All I know is not being discerning means I'm wrong a lot.
Not being discerning means I hurt a lot.
And I was afraid of hurting again.
So I decided not to trust you.
That remains a decision filled with pain and doubt and sometimes regret.
The past can be loud.
And misleading. We don't always remember the truth, often just a twisted version of it.
But I decided.
And forward is the only direction left to go.