, , ,

I remember it
not like it happened yesterday
but like it happened
a hundred years ago:
no historian writes
a better account of what transpired
than that of a later generation
when things are best seen
in proportion
to what happened
after and before

last night, without prejudice
I saw it unfold
for the last time:
turned into anger
turned into hatred
turned into bitterness
turned into apathy
turned into a full-blown
dishonest reality
with little teeth
on the yellowed edges
of my proud heart
whispering that
something is missing
that I tried to ignore

last night,
I heard her voice
from somewhere in the distance
not behind me,
but in front of me
she’s gone ahead of me
and told me I was forgiven
told me she still cared
told me she could still see my beauty
sounding exactly like
the friend I had
before I betrayed her trust
without hesitation or remorse
so long ago

she gave it
even if I didn’t ask for it
but I needed it

and not in all my
so-called successes
and luxuries
and promises of fame and fortune
in my newfound life
have I ever known
such peace

and I realized
what I should have known
all along:
her forgiveness
was the key
to my unhappiness
Thank you, Z.