ConcentricCircle's spot

Only four letters, one syllable, red in colour— so primal, so pristine to describe what you mean to me. A pinched circle that makes everything whole in the vast expanse of preserved distance. A symbol of trust, of lasting comfort, of words meant yet unspoken. Held to a standard that rises above us— solid yet gentle, strong yet flexible. I ask nothing more and give nothing less. Like every breath you take: necessary, yet unnoticed.

  One day you wake up and tell me, nonchalantly, that you were never faithful. What am I supposed to do? How do I sit with that? And why now, I ask, after all these years of weaving dreams and painstakingly making them real— as if the strength in that woven fabric would catch my fall in this new knowledge of losing everything. Unfettered, you walk out and on your way take the little dignity I had left. Snapping my string— a kite untethered, a ship unmoored. My trust in love, in the sacrifices I made, burns in the fire of betrayal. How do I begin to pick up the pieces and regain faith— if not in love, then at least in a patched-up me.