Adam trusted you.

He trusted you when the fruit’s juices coursed upon his tongue, when the poison of wisdom burned to his veins and invaded his newfound blood.

You were his constant, his love, his other half and what broke him time and time again, but repaired him with your soft hands by merely the simplest of touch.

How could he hate you? There was a world new to him and you, one to build up from the ground, to repair the damage caused by once fooled thoughts and live anew.

But a darkness haunted you, one Adam could not seem to storm past no matter his efforts. He hated it, praying upon bloodied knees and calloused hands until you spoke a word.

How could you resent yourself? He could not resent you, he loved and trusted you more than he had desired to remain within that garden.

You’d become with child, his child, yet that frown still creased your lips. Ones he’d kissed thousands of times, late in the darkness where not even god could see how skin clashed.

He trusted you, he wished you knew that.

He forgave you long before there was a reason to forgive.

He prayed you knew that.