My rock was shattered. You were supposed to be there, always holding me up. Where are you now?
I keep expecting to see you around every corner, behind every door. I didn't want to admit to myself that you were gone, that you were never quite there. I was trying to deny the illusion of your absence, but there it was in my face that you were never solid in the first place.
The bridge I was walking on turned out to be my own imagination, that I had been relying on no one but myself. Yet I still wanted you back, I wanted the illusion of solidity back, the illusion of security, the illusion of truth, the illusion that everything would be alright.
The real truth now stared at me, and it was one I did not want to look at. You were gone, along with my last hold on what I thought I could trust in this world. Nothing remained now. I suppose it would force me to be stronger, but it was not a world I wanted to be in.
I had thought you would always protect me. I was wrong, and now I would have to learn to rely on no one but myself. I still miss you. I still want those years back. But I know it's impossible now, unless I erased my own memory. A hard lesson to learn, but perhaps one we must all learn before we are truly grown - although I'm not sure losing the ability to trust is healthy for anyone, it seems it can be the only recourse after my own self-delusions are lifted.
The world I'm walking into may not be a bright one, but maybe it will be one I can see more clearly, despite the darkness. You are no longer my rock, you never were. I suppose I can't even be my own, considering how easily fooled I was.
All I can do is keep my own hands in front of my face in the fog.