(Backdated post: 9 May 2015, published 3 June 2015)

I will hold your trust preciously with both my hands and an eager heart. I will do so religiously but to a point where you inadvertently push all my wrong buttons with the fingers of apathy, ingratitude, and sheer disrespect and impoliteness.

Then I will drop it.

I will drop your trust so hard into the vast magnitudes of ocean that have been unquestionably crossed, and I will watch it sink so quickly and wordlessly into the deep dark void of your oblivious nonchalance. I will not let it shatter into a million pieces, for it seems too heinous a crime to clean the vestiges of its existence off my own shoes and being; reminiscent to the emotional yet stoic ridding of blood stains post cold-blooded murder. Instead, I will let it suffocate and drown, choke and sputter on the very substance this entire relationship was struggling to remain afloat upon (for buoyancy, for sustenance). The waters of equivocal favours will seep into its system, weighing it down so devoid of force-fed air it has long grown used to receiving. This finely-wired construct will electrocute it; short-circuited.

Now even the most prevailing winds of allegiance or the most persistent currents of unwavering dependability will not be able to save this tragedy-laced vessel from its destined course – downwards.

And I will disappoint you. I will let you down like every other one that came before.

Not spitefully. But simply because, it is so much tougher to hold your trust with clenched fists and a suffocated heart.

--

"ANDY: She hates me, Nigel.
NIGEL: And that's my problem because... Oh, wait. No, it's not my problem.
ANDY: I don't know what else I can do...because if I do something right, it's unacknowledged. She doesn't even say thank you. But if I do something wrong, she is vicious.
NIGEL: So quit.
ANDY: What?
NIGEL: Quit.
ANDY: Quit?
NIGEL: I can get another girl to take your job in five minutes...one who really wants it.
ANDY: No, I don't want to quit. That's not fair. But, I, you know, I'm just saying that I would just like a little credit... for the fact that I'm killing myself trying.
NIGEL: Andy, be serious. You are not trying. You are whining. What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, "Poor you. Miranda's picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy"? Hmm? Wake up, six. She's just doing her job... This place, where so many people would die to work, you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day? Wake up, sweetheart."

Thankful for all the Nigels to my Andy who see the storms in my eyes and the water above my head -- hellfire seems less scathing with y'all around.

(Backdated post: 9 May 2015, published 3 June 2015)

I will hold your trust preciously with both my hands and an eager heart. I will do so religiously but to a point where you inadvertently push all my wrong buttons with the fingers of apathy, ingratitude, and sheer disrespect and impoliteness.

Then I will drop it.

I will drop your trust so hard into the vast magnitudes of ocean that have been unquestionably crossed, and I will watch it sink so quickly and wordlessly into the deep dark void of your oblivious nonchalance. I will not let it shatter into a million pieces, for it seems too heinous a crime to clean the vestiges of its existence off my own shoes and being; reminiscent to the emotional yet stoic ridding of blood stains post cold-blooded murder. Instead, I will let it suffocate and drown, choke and sputter on the very substance this entire relationship was struggling to remain afloat upon (for buoyancy, for sustenance). The waters of equivocal favours will seep into its system, weighing it down so devoid of force-fed air it has long grown used to receiving. This finely-wired construct will electrocute it; short-circuited.

Now even the most prevailing winds of allegiance or the most persistent currents of unwavering dependability will not be able to save this tragedy-laced vessel from its destined course – downwards.

And I will disappoint you. I will let you down like every other one that came before.

Not spitefully. But simply because, it is so much tougher to hold your trust with clenched fists and a suffocated heart.

--

"ANDY: She hates me, Nigel.
NIGEL: And that's my problem because... Oh, wait. No, it's not my problem.
ANDY: I don't know what else I can do...because if I do something right, it's unacknowledged. She doesn't even say thank you. But if I do something wrong, she is vicious.
NIGEL: So quit.
ANDY: What?
NIGEL: Quit.
ANDY: Quit?
NIGEL: I can get another girl to take your job in five minutes...one who really wants it.
ANDY: No, I don't want to quit. That's not fair. But, I, you know, I'm just saying that I would just like a little credit... for the fact that I'm killing myself trying.
NIGEL: Andy, be serious. You are not trying. You are whining. What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, "Poor you. Miranda's picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy"? Hmm? Wake up, six. She's just doing her job... This place, where so many people would die to work, you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day? Wake up, sweetheart."

Thankful for all the Nigels to my Andy who see the storms in my eyes and the water above my head -- hellfire seems less scathing with y'all around.