I know by experience that poets are right: that people are treacherous. I know that they will go away and they will leave scars deeper than trenches, hurt which is more fierce than the brightest fire. In the end, they would just be a story on my lips with their memories turned to ashes. But what they forget is that when you hurt somebody who trusts you, its not the betrayal you should be sorry for. The pain which you inflicted will be severe, but it will pass and my scars will heal.

No, the cruelest legacy you will leave behind however is the crippling belief in my heart that the rest of the world is as selfish and disloyal as you. And I will believe so for years, and guard myself. But what a treacherous thing it is, to believe that every person is made of the same thread. To be afraid to surrender control all to quickly, of placing your heart into hands that won’t know how to hold them.

So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.

I will make a choice, which is neither written in the stars or planned by the gods, but a choice, built on hope and faith and blood and trust. I will not run what we have, on a compromise or depend upon a whim of fate, I’ll create for ourselves something that must be earned and fought for.

The cosmos will provide me with a blueprint, but with you, I will build the universe. And I will trust you, with the same reckless disregard for my own wellbeing, hoping that this time, my heart won’t have to mend itself.

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