The Fragility of Trust · Rishab Academy

The Fragility of Trust

Trust is like a flame, warm, comforting, and strong when it burns bright. But it’s also fragile, flickering in the slightest breeze. It’s strange how easily we can shift from being someone’s safe place to someone they hesitate to approach.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently, especially after a conversation I had. It made me pause and wonder: How do I unknowingly change in someone’s eyes? Am I too careless with my words, or is it something deeper—something I don’t even realize I'm doing?

So, naturally, I did what I always do when my thoughts spiral, I wrote.

I came up with this, while reflecting on these feelings.

When the Warmth Fades

You once said I was your harbor,

A guardian angel, steadfast and near.

In my arms, you found the calm,

A shelter from your storms and fear.

But now, your words—they cut like glass,

“I’m afraid,” you said, and I froze, aghast.

The warmth you cherished, a distant glow,

Replaced by shadows I didn’t know.

How did I become the fear you feel?

What fault in me could make it real?

Was it a word, a tone, a careless act,

That tore the trust and left this crack?

Now my hands are cold, trembling still,

A mirror to the void I cannot fill.

Once warm with care, they now betray,

A sign of the warmth that slipped away.

I replay our moments, time rewound,

Seeking the fracture where it all unwound.

But every search leads back to this:

The warmth, now gone, the comfort missed.

Was it the weight of my guarded care,

The way I tried to always be there?

Or something deeper I cannot see,

A failing unknown inside of me?

I never wished for you to hide,

To silence your voice, to stand aside.

I only wanted you to feel secure,

To know my love was strong, was pure.

But now I’m lost, a lighthouse dim,

Adrift in waters dark and grim.

If I could, I’d weave the warmth anew,

And give it back, that glow to you.

Yet here I stand, unsure, alone,

With guilt and love both carved in stone.

My hands, still cold, long to restore

The warmth you once felt—and more.

For I am Chinnu, still the same,

Yet burdened now with undeserved blame.

A trusted heart, or so I thought,

Now tangled in the fear I wrought.

Writing this made me realize something: trust isn’t just built, it’s nurtured. And sometimes, without meaning to, we let it slip. The lesson? Never assume you’re the same person in someone’s eyes as you were yesterday. Check in. Ask. Be present.

To the person this poem is for (you know who you are): I’m still the same. I hope you can feel that again someday.

For everyone else, well, IDK, have you ever felt like this? Like you’ve lost something intangible but essential with someone close to you? Or perhaps you’ve been on the other side, hesitant to trust someone you once did.

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