Erosion

I was once a city. Many people have travelled to me and through me.

I was once popular. Lots have come, lots have gone. I’ve been used, and I’ve been abused.

I used to exist for others’ pleasure. Their smile brought me a smile. Their sadness brought me tears.

Now, I am an island. Entirely self sufficient. Dependent on no one. I am treaded upon no more.

I watch others from a distance. I watch as they do their interaction. Their joys. Their pains. I watch as they abuse each others’ trust, just as they have abused mine.

Independence. Solitude. All shields around my island.

Loneliness. Silent suffering. All because of my fear of being hurt by others.

Is it better to be hurt by those you love? Or to hurt yourself, never to be loved?