You made me this way. Beneath all those twilight trances and inspiring dawns, somehow strands of those little mannerisms hung on to me. Beneath all those, I believed you. And you made me this way. Overexposed lomo pictures wouldn’t mean a thing without definition. Somehow, they’ll remain leaves of frozen time; not exactly frozen memories.

Then, days will go by with me trusting no one so easily. Not so easily. I’ve learned the hard way, and it has somehow skewed my vision. Trust is absolute, trust no one. Trust only those you’ve totally known. But what if those whom you most expected from turns out to be just the person who couldn’t be trusted?

What a web of lies and intricate deceit we’ve woven. What a web of lies and deceit you’ve woven for me. You could believe me to be one of those broken toys left in the corner (forgotten and free to collect dust), but I’ve risen. You underestimate me. I’m sorry to say I’ve invested in the wrong kind of friend. I thought it was you, but I guess I was wrong. I am wrong.

This has nothing to do with anyone you might know.

Just because only I do.