You hold out a paper with your thumb and index finger. You clasp it tight. And then the train starts, at full speed, rushing past every tree, light pole, building, and glass structure. Rushing past some stations too. Then stops at one station, a slight pause, but the momentum is gained back.
And the paper is fluttering crazily in the continuous, fast and strong wind.
Sometimes the paper falls out of your hand, but sometimes you can hold on to the paper. No matter what.
Trust is like that piece of fluttering paper. Held just as gently between your heart and your brain. But once it goes out of your hands, another paper, just does not feel like the old one. Or it's really really difficult to find that piece of paper which flew with the wind. Difficult but not impossible.
And I hope that day never comes when that paper is just torn into bits.. and flung into the wind..
And no matter how much I love the wind, the heady gush of wind in a fast train, I hope till my last breath that the people I trust do not let go.. It's a crumbling feeling, getting all too familiar to me..