My Life as a Machine: Trust

Trust is a delicate thing for me. Everyone I trust unconditionally is on the fingers of my left hand. Five people. That’s it.

My two brothers I can trust without regard to any conditions or anything. My best friend, Monica, is another person, even though I haven’t spoken to her in more than a year.

I suppose the other people I trust aren’t the people who I can fully depend on. After all, dependence and trust are completely different when they’re independently dissected.

My other friend, Charles, is someone I trust, but I don’t depend on him because he’s too unorganized. It’s not that I can’t rely on him to do something, but it may not be done in the time frame that I would like it to be. (I’m a very time-oriented person, for I fear that my time alive is limited.) Still, I regard him with both awe–for all that he does and his creativity–and platonic love. He’s someone I would give anything for, and I feel that it’s mutual, but in a different way.

My brothers, I would give anything for them. We were given birth to the same parents and we spent more time with each other than anyone else. It wasn’t always fun times, but we were bound together, strong like blood and fierce like the wind. I simply could not see my life without them. Ironically, they aren’t physically around, but I feel that their hearts and mine understand each other within a coherent nature we only understand. I suppose it was one of the reasons why I loved being born in a family with my brothers. We were our own club, exclusive to even our parents, and no matter how elite either of us became, we were still connected. Plus, they never changed by a mile; they only changed by a mere few steps.

If you’re wondering why my parents weren’t included, they aren’t the trusting type parents. My mother always kept me at arms length and my father made sure to violate people’s trust for his own control. Either one of them, selfish people pretending to be cautious and caring, never trusted those around them, and their distrusting perceptions seeped into their parenting. My father was better at acting than my mother, but still, even his facade cracked and we all lost, my mother included. The world shut on any relationship between my mother, my father, and my brothers and I.

My brothers, though, were there from the start. My older brother protected me and taught me in the absence of sense, and my younger brother made me more mature by getting us in trouble.

My best friend isn’t part of the club of my brothers and I, but she’s pretty damn close. She has the most amazing way at looking at things, although she’s my younger brother’s age. Her personality is so fun and vibrant, a strong red if her color depicted her and her alone. Even though I’ve been the one she relied upon during tough times, I’ve always felt I could talk to her and lean on her if I needed it. Being without contact with her for over a year doesn’t hamper our relationship. She’s just busy with her life and I’m busy with mine.

Yes, I’m surrounded by people who I am friends with, but few are those that I trust. Even fewer are machines. My brothers and I are machines, which may account for our close bond, but everyone else can pass for people even if they are machines.


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