A light is red that hangs above my worried head.
But it’s amazing to return to the place where all things first went wrong. Someone new sits across the way where, last time, it was me and you in my place. And we drink drinks something like you and I drank then. And we talk talks something like you and I talked then.
But the language is not quite as thin, and I mention edges of the mistakes I’ve made and the things I’m struggling to dispell from magical wells kept barred inside of me. And the words I hear back are so comforting and sweet. And how can I not accept:
“You can’t do more than you did. And what you did is good enough.”
For the first time in years uncounted, I feel good enough.
For this life and this body and these scars from those places where I scraped by, where I held on, where holes in my chest slowly closed.
I can recognize why the methods of their damage worked, and I can come to terms with the damage that I want. And I can love whatever is left. And I can love whatever is to come.
And I can love you, despite everything the past amounted to.
And by love — I mean accept and forgive.
And by forgive — I mean let go.