Let's Pretend This Never Happened

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

he takes me as I am and loves me into someone better. the freedom to grow, with no reason to hide, this is a man worth sticking beside.

I hated him most for not having the courage to ruin us grandly. To break all the dishes and burn down the house. Instead he sunk quiet into the arms of a beautiful, weak little bird. Denied me my spilled blood, my scorched earth, everything except his confession.

One of the risks of being quiet is that other people can fill your silence with their own interpretation: You’re bored. You’re depressed. You’re shy. You’re stuck up. You’re judgmental. When others can’t read us, they write their own story—not always one we choose or that’s true to who we are.

How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?