The Fault is in my Heart

“On a side note, it’s a breath of fresh air to wake up forgetting to remember you.”

She did not want to move, or to speak. She wanted to rest, to lean, to dream. She felt very tired.

Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls my life.

I was in a place where nobody knew my heart even a little bit.

You can’t stop a person from doing what they want to do. They’ll start lying to you to continue doing it.

This feeling never goes away. It keeps on coming back every time I see your face and I hear your name.

I wish you knew how bad it fucked me up.

Just because you failed at something, doesn’t mean you didn’t understand. And it certainly doesn’t mean you didn’t learn anything.

My heart is stronger now, because you’re in it.

it’s not you. it’s not me. it’s you and me.

I wish you knew how bad it fucked me up.

Sorry. Sorry means you feel the pulse of other people’s pain as well as your own, and saying it means you take a share of it. And so it binds us together, makes us trodden and sodden as one another. Sorry is a lot of things. It’s a hole refilled. A debt repaid. Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It’s the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness. Sorry is sometimes self-pity. But Sorry, really, is not about you. It’s theirs to take or leave. Sorry means you leave yourself open, to embrace or to ridicule or to revenge. Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap. Sorry is a sacrament. It’s an offering. A gift.