Trust is a spark that without the proper kindling cannot be coaxed beyond its initial barbs of electricity into something substantial, but when the correct material meets pure measure it ignites into an inferno of possibility.
Time and consideration reinforced.
Yet with too much or too little oxygen it can breathe no more just as quickly as the sparks flickered on.
Trust is a wanting sort of thing.
It can stifle but more often I find it encourages quietly and coolly without friction nor fuss.
Boding ever forward until perspective cannot be found, and thought is cloudy and lost.
I trust in only myself in a never ending feeling fruitless endeavor.
I want to trust in you.
Yet I see the cracks and crevices.
There are fixtures and fissures plenty.
I stop to consider.
Until it’s gone.
March 12, 2020