*as much as I adore writing poems and never pass up an opportunity to do so, I feel like this has to be a story for my specific case

“How do I trust, How do I trust again?”

The song “Dancing with your ghost”, the one that you sent me, echoes in my ears. Indeed, how DO I trust again? How do I trust you? I find myself gullible, perhaps a little naïve; so much is true. Yet it is still your fault for the lies. Telling me you were immortal. Twice. And I believed you. Twice.

Honestly, it was a pretty good lie. Well done on that; the world building and such. You didn’t just tell me that one statement, expecting me to believe you. There was an entire backstory, my questions answered accordingly. Later, I learnt you had a word document you referred to so as not to tread on the wrong path or mention something that’d contradict a previous phrase. Honestly, the likes of you! You kept a straight face - despite not being straight ;) - the whole time, when I called you face-to-face and spoke to you in person. You’re a brilliant actor and liar.

It still hurt though. I love magic, you know I do. You broke my heart when I found out you weren’t immortal. But I find you to be magic in so many other ways, so I got over it.

Besides, it is partially my fault, after all. I believed you. I always want so badly to believe you, all of your stories and magic sparks. So I did. That, I admit, is a flaw of mine.

The next lie, it was when I asked you to tell me something, anything, that would restore my trust in you. You told of a tale of three lighthouse people having disappeared from an island recently. Apparently, it was “all over the news” and “how didn’t you hear?”. Upon further questioning, I discovered it had indeed happened. I believed you again. But. Although the story did take place, and is still a mystery yet to be solved, it happened in the bloomin’ 19 hundreds. Seriously, B.

Finally, the last lie (for now) that you have told: You have a sister, aged 27, named Maude, working in the military. This is an entirely plausible and believable fact, considering you first said it to my face, seeming genuinely shocked I didn’t know you have an older sister and wondering how on earth I haven’t met her (before realizing she left for uni before I arrived here).

This, of all of the lies and stories, seems to be the most likely one to be true. Naturally, as always, I trusted you. I believed you.

No, you don’t have a sister. At least, not an older one. I’m friends with your younger one.

Even after all of this, I continue to lay my trust in you. Handing it over freely, giving you one last chance. I beg you, don’t break it, don’t break me, anymore. It will be your last time if you do. This trust is fragile; a single lie could severe it from touching you ever again. This is your warning. This is your

Last.

Chance.