Let me tell you a story I know nothing about

It is always the most simple advice that we all fail to heed.
Everyone told me,

When someone shows you who they are, believe them. 
But why is that so difficult? Why do we fool our eyes into witnessing the reality we create inside our heads?

Why do I easily slip into a role of ignorance regarding his character, despite being proven so many times to believe otherwise? I am out of excuses for him, no more room to bend over backward.

He told me, “You don't really know what I think.”

Those 6 words and 11 syllables rained on me like standing under shattering glass
as I realized 

that he

was 

right.

He is right.

And instead of anger at him for withholding,
I only feel embarrassment for not seeing a truth so plain I could draw it out with my thumb.
I am drowning in a pool of my own ignorance.

I used to think that whatever souls are made of, his and mine were the same.
My soul is crafted by rain breaking silence,
pale blue satin flowing in a winter breeze,
the smell of peppermint, and the touch of love.

But now when I look in his eyes I see foreign material,

a scratchy blanket brushing against my cheek,

a worn leather that cuts flesh.

This is our story –

I'll tell you of a person I know nothing about,
while every piece of me sits in his back pocket.