When I was five, my mother told me I was loved. Years later, she asked me to leave because I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.
When I was ten, my father told me he believed in me. Years later, he refused to accompany me because I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.
When I was fifteen, my friends told me I was funny. Years later, they all laughed at me because I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.
When I was twenty, this guy said I was beautiful. Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.
So, sorry for not believing in you, for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth when you told me you loved me because I didn’t want to wind up years later, learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.
"Pistanthrophobia is just not everyone's cup of tea."