Sometimes I think about you on your deathbed and I wonder if I’ll want to be there. The part of me that wants to hear you say it is the most susceptible to wanting to be there, just in case, you know? The part of me that gets to decide whether to grant you forgiveness while still on this mortal coil, so you can take it with you to the gates of Heaven where it may or may not make a difference when deciding your fate, that part isn’t really sure if it wants to show up to be asked the question. That part, and the small, squirming part that still wants to be in love with you (I will NEVER again be in love with you) really want you to be a stand up person before then, before the Hail Mary brought on by your secret fear of death, and for you to simply say you are sorry. That you’d take it back if you could. That you understand there is no such thing as it not happening, but you know now how wrong you were and how much you hurt me.
But your shame won’t let you say it, your shame won’t even let you think it. You try your hardest NOT to think about it, but it is ALL that you think about.
I know, because I have struggled under the weight of my own shame, and I have been feral and drawn blood in my efforts to remain blind and innocent. But there is no escape from this truth, it will haunt you beyond your grave.
There is so much freedom in saying it out loud. Owning it and laying it down, taking the punishment and serving it out like a reformation. This is not all there is to you, your shame. But your refusal to graduate the lesson keeps you bound up in it, you’re choking on it, it’s the thing that makes you a lie, the thing that haunts your soul and keeps you from ever feeling rested.
All of me believes in the Hail Mary though, even if I don’t want necessarily to admit it to you. All of me believes in the power of a present moment to immediately change a lifetime of *truth*.
All of me believes in mercy, because there is no such thing as perfection, there’s just learning or not learning.