The Fragile Threads of Trust

In the coffee shop hum, my friend’s eyes reflect,

shadows of hurt, a heart to protect.

She talks of betrayal, how she let them back in,

a wound washed over, like salt on the skin.

Her voice quivers softly, a flicker of pain,

I see in her story, my own truth remains.

Have I painted over the cracks in my heart,

or do I give trust like a work of fine art?

A mug cracks on the counter, coffee spills wide,

a reminder that healing is not just the tide.

As I sip from the depths of this fragile mistrust,

I wonder if I forgive just to cover the rust.