There are few people I trust implicitly. Very. Very. Few. (very). And for those that I do, I trust them with the most valuable and vulnerable parts and pieces of me. These are the few who know me in ways others think they do. Know my truths. Know others lies. Know my battles and my mistakes. Know my weaknesses and my strengths. They know my past. Trust in my future. Come hell, high water, rain, sleet, snow, hurricane, if I needed them, needed rescuing, they would come for me. They know my journey because they’ve walked it with me. They know my tears, they’ve heard and seen them fall. Know my laughter. Have been the reason for my smiles. They understand me when I can’t understand myself. They makes sense of my confusing. When I feel as if I’m falling, they are there, ready to catch me and when I’m flying, they are the wind beneath me. These are the ones.
One who birthed me. Ones who nourish me. Ones who learn me. Ones who know me.
These are my ones. The ones who I trust implicitly.
This morning…I woke up wishing I hadn’t asked the questions I did last night. This morning I’m thinking to myself, “sometimes you ask too many questions!”
Whenever asking a question, I ask to receive the truth and I’m prepared for that truth to, sometimes, not be what I want to hear. The truth, as they say, does hurt. Sometimes but not always.
So, last night I asked questions. You told me the truth….and in all honesty it hurt.
What happens when the truth we receive isn’t the truth we were prepared for? When what we thought we knew, we really didn’t know at all? And the hurt we feel we can’t get over?
What happens when…
Easier to pretend you don’t care than deal with the fact that you do.