How could he?

I've come to realize that much as I think of myself as a cynical skeptic, or a skeptical cynic, there will always be someone or something that will prove me wrong. Each time, I break down and slowly come to terms with the fact that I have been naive all along. Again.

I sit here, dabbing at invisible wounds because I let my defenses down. Because I trusted. Because I loved. Because I thought someone understand and care. And was genuinely happy being with me. It's like he has his one hand caressing me while the other was wielding a double-edged blade at my back. That hand distracted with such warmth, so that when the blow finally came, it hurt even more.
How could he?

I remind myself again, that I don't really want to know anymore. Don't need to know. If it hurts to hear so much, and yet know nothing at all, I don't see the point in pursuing. I'll leave those stab wounds on my back gaping and bleeding to remind myself that I slipped and loved a little too much. That he didn't care about the long and arduous journey I took just to be with him. That all he wanted and cared was his own happiness, regardless of how many people he'll hurt.

I don't want to feel so much anymore. If I have to walk around for the rest of my life with both hands covering my ears, I would do it. The knowledge that everything was nothing just isn't worth it.

With love,
Ariane