Trust

Trust lies somewhere in between love and fear. It is planted somewhere in the shadows, in the patches of ground we hope no one treads, watered with furtive glances and nervous sighs. We wait for the light but we hate its coming. But when the sun rises we will know: whether it is flower or fungi we have been sheltering from our gaze, or whether we have been gardening withered blossoms and a broken stalk. 

Trust cannot be recovered; it must be regrown. But not before we cry like mothers in the night, mourning dead babies. 

Don't you know that when you leave others to pick up the pieces, their fingers bleed for you?