I am vulnerable
To the people around me
To the things that surround me
Both the happy and the sad.
I am hurt by the least of words
I am elusive if the surface is evil
I am stagnant if it is love that I am standing upon.
I am biased
Towards the ones I love
I wonder why those only few I choose, couldn’t be biased towards me.
I wonder if I am a fool falling prey each time they hunt for warmth, from me.
I mean, God never told me that I was the Sun.
Then why do I tend to behave like one?
Though they take away all my warmth,
But still, I feel their hearts are growing colder each day
And in return I only ask for “their trust”
But it was probably the second last thing they would give me
“Their love” being the last.