Forgiving you.

I’m not sure.

About anything, I am constantly unsure. Of myself, of others.

People don’t mean what they say and they rarely say what they mean, so everything is left for me to interpret.

I read between lines I have drawn out myself, find meaning in the meaningless and make excuses for the inexcusable.

Because I get people. And people fuck up. People make mistakes but we must forgive them. Mustn’t we?

Or would life be easier if I chose to see things as they were, not for what I want them to be, hoped that they were or should have been.

Is forgiveness a fantasy?

Am I naïve to believe we can move past this.


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