I believe in you.
All those times you would say, “You won’t believe this about me, but . . .” And I always happily responded, “Oh but I do believe it.” Turns out, it was you who never believed me when I said so.
I had good reason to believe you. By my nature. By my own belief. By my own experience. By how well I do know you. By my love. I believed in you. I still do.
But you don’t believe me, and you don’t believe in me. You openly mock my belief. You preach acceptance, yet you are as brazenly intolerant as those who think they can decide who is a real Christian.
And then supposedly I’m not really believing in you if I can’t turn myself into that nothing you’ve made me out to be, as if I have to accept your disbelief in me to prove I believe in you.
No matter how little you believe in me, forever I will continue to believe the best, the most, the truth of you.