Revisiting,

Unprovoked but somehow still pungently strong observed losses from the past in the cruel game of this unruly ego's preservation.

Trigger.

In the end, I cant, musn't, need not, care...
About any of it.

It's over.
I no longer have to carry any of its suffocating weight.

Despite the loss, despite the hurt.
You were never to blame.

I was incomplete.
As you may have been...
that is not my resolution to succeed in.
You will own that glory.
I will own mine.

For that I'm not sorry, but rather glad not to bear weight alongside my own flesh and bone I now care for with diligence.

I choose to end this today.
This nagging need to describe to you and beat into your turned nose for sake of fairness the blacks and blues of betrayal and distrust.

And yet, here they fall.
One by heartbreaking one.

Sandlike particles of once red waving flags igored in the name of blind faith rapidly dissolving,
slipping through worn hands into the ever present existence I expend most of my will to guard myself from daily.

These very hands with which I put the pen to paper and entrust to the physical dimension my most preciously defended ego's wounds.

Theoretical sand turns,melting, birthing a heavy contcrete now present before me.
A block I must now move.

The very toxins I swish in my mouth and swallow, the thoughts of you and your untrustworthy heart and hateful grip around my neck, filling the crevices of my mind at every wind in grey matter.

The ink spills in, carrying with it rushes of insecurity into the veins that once carried boldness, fearlessness, stregnth.

I am consumed.

But it is short lived.
And this time is the last.

You are a good enough person.
An idea that scares my inner child and haunts my most protected depths.
A thought I must confirm.
Words I must beleive wholly, despite the taste of garlic and vinegar to my sore tongue.
Others will not experience you the way I did, and this should be a deeply comforting thought.
Due credit given and appreciated, the sheer cold of being the only soul to know these darkest depths of you stings a place inside me I never imagined would be victim to this distaste.

Yes. You could never have completed me.
It wasn't your job, as much as you dutifully applied, interviewed and followed up in person to get what you needed.

I shouldn't have quietly hoped of you to undo aches I wished for you (at a distant point from the present) to never understand. (Now my ego prays you do)

How could one expect to efficiently, gently, console a heart that bled from a different knife from that which invaded the tender ***** palpating in their own marrow cage.

If I beleive the things I read, the theories I preach, the fundamentals I find most inspirational and motivating,
I must come to this simple realization.

Forgiveness will not undo it.
Neither will hate.

Forgiveness however, will allow the light you brought to a place in me that needed fixing, rather than hate which only shields.  A mirror, reflecting the brightness purposefully into your eyes with intent to burn, does not allow the seed in me light enough with which to grow.

Forgiveness is thanking you for allowing me the opportunity to better myself, despite the fact it would be less work not to see the room for improvement.

To see that I allowed someone to spin me in circles, to ask me to walk, and then to berate me for my messy delivery.

Forgiveness is knowing my worth now and living despite you not aknowledging it.

Forgiveness is thanking you for forcing me into a place where growth and ambition and pushing forward are my only option if I opt out of allowing you to see me weak again.

Forgiveness is thanking you against all intuition, against all the fight in me that would have kicked had I been conscious to address it, against my will and in the same coin meaning it because it is the only way to heal and grow and shine in ways you never could....

Forgiveness
is thanking
you
for ******
me.