In the quiet shadows of my mind,trust is a fragile thread,torn by hands I thought would hold me safe.
They say the deepest wounds come from those we love,not strangers lurking in the dark,but the voices that once whispered comfort,now echo with betrayal.
Depression is a heavy weight...not just sadness, but a hollow ache,a space where hope once lived,now empty, cold, silent.
I wonder, what’s the point of trusting anyone,when vulnerability becomes a target,when your own heart becomes a battlefield?
Maybe it’s easier to carry this alone,to wear the armor of silence,to hide the cracks beneath a smile—a mask for a mind that’s breaking.
And yet, beneath it all,a flicker of something..a fragile hope,that maybe someday,trust can be rebuilt,or perhaps, just learned to be fragile,like the rest of us.
