The Disease of Distrust

To not believe, to distrust, is oppressing for with it I invite villains of my own creation. These very people I, then, include in my world. The weight of it, perhaps, is not for display. But with each chance (and, pray, what is that?) encounter, I abrade myself further under its tell. For in disbelief there is nurtured a relation which is fed by the other's dubious ways, his misdeeds, his lies, his wants & his deprivation. Fed on such a poison, slowly, word by word, act by act, such a relation soon becomes impervious to truth, halting on the venom of the past.And I, honourable I, master of no such misdeed, no mistake clinging to my overcoat, no lies trickling down my chin, I am accomplice.I, to whom you relate, hold on firmly, countering every twist of yours, braiding disbelief into a taut cable. And Fate walks the tightrope.