Trust did not shatter.

It eroded.

A grain at a time

carried away by hands

that said stay

while quietly teaching me why I shouldn’t.

People imagine betrayal as violence.

They picture shouting.

They picture rage.

But the worst harm I have known

arrived softly.

It knew my history.

Spoke gently around it.

Waited patiently

until I stopped guarding the fragile parts.

That is how doors open.

Not by force.

By relief.

I remember the first time I exhaled around someone.

How heavy my bones felt

realising I did not have to stay awake inside my own life.

I thought safety sounded like laughter.

I did not know it could also sound like goodbye.

Now my body keeps score.

I notice pauses between words.

The shift in temperature when affection cools.

The moment interest turns into tolerance.

I collect these things instinctively.

Evidence.

Proof that I am not imagining the ground moving again.

They say I am distant.

Careful.

Hard to reach.

They do not understand

that once you have been loved as a doorway

people expect to walk through you forever.

So I became a wall instead.

Loneliness has sharp edges

but at least it does not pretend to be soft.

Sometimes I watch strangers trust each other.

Heads leaning together.

Phones left unlocked on tables.

Sleep shared without fear.

It feels like watching another language spoken fluently

after forgetting every word yourself.

I do not hate people.

I still want warmth.

That might be the cruelest part.

Because wanting it

does not mean I can survive it.

So I sleep lightly now.

Back to the wall.

Breath measured.

Dreams unfinished.

And if someone ever truly meant no harm….

I wonder

if I would recognise it.

Or mistake safety for danger…

and close the door

just before it finally stayed.