Ignorance isn't bliss

"Of course I love you." Said with a sincerity so slick you could use it grease the pan to fry your heart with. And then you want to believe, you really want to, but somehow you can't.

That hurts a lot, of course. Struggling to believe that the things said are true, even when dark doubt flutters in your heart, keening to rip free out of your mouth.

But words are only words. Actions are only actions. How could you ever trust them to be genuine? How do you tell if the man who whispers love and enfolds you in his arms only does so to win your favour so that he may get what he wants? See how they trick you with the semblance of your desires in order to achieve their own. And you happily fall, trading nothing for everything you have. When you cry in the dead of the night for all that you have lost, swearing never to give in again, it all comes to naught the next time he smiles at you. Precious little, but such a boon when bestowed.

Hungry for affection, hungry for knowing, you push and push for more. Do you love me? Do you still love me? Do you find me attractive? I love you, I love you, I love you. Knowing that even if you went the other way the source would not suddenly spew forth. And so you blow hot and cold, trying means and ways to make him seem a little more loving. An equal partner in the dance.

Until he turns and tells you you're not the person he fell in love with. You're not the same. Too pushy, too demanding, wanting too much commitment. You swallow back your pleas for love with the thought that perhaps he was right. Perhaps you were being too clingy. Perhaps you were asking too much? You let his affection die back to a mere trickle. Was he really right?

Insecurity looms. Would you really have to feel insecure if he was good enough to you? Or is it a flaw in your character that you cannot believe him? You can never tell, can you, and your doubts are never laid to rest. The only thing you do know is the hurt, then the bliss of his touch. An endless cycle... until there's only pain and more pain and tears, and the distant golden memory of happiness.

You cling onto it because there's nothing left. But when is enough, enough?

You're not strong enough to push him away and he does nothing to end your misery. He does not want to hurt you further, but it's a choice between a fatal stab and a gentle ebbing of spirit. Or perhaps you finally take the knife to yourself when the pain is too great.