Thursdays

The canvas may have been too small to paint the picture we wanted to create but we tried.

 

 

Running On

When all the good you did and wanted to do is wiped out by some errors of judgement and apologies are unacceptable and you are nothing but a criminal, pariah, untouchable, Satan’s daughter (not mine), ungrateful, entitled expletive who has taken and has been given much, much more than she deserves because we’re counting here, keeping tabs about who deserves what because you don’t deserve to be loved for who you are but what you do, you don’t deserve to be loved because you did and said the wrong thing, you are banished and you yourself want to disappear because what is the point of living if somebody of all people thinks the worst of you and despair, desolation envelopes this thin, thin film, this thin, thin sliver of life that only yearns to be free, free to be, free of drama and this sense of unworthiness, seeking forgiveness in the wrong places because she has yet to forgive herself and pardon the expression but: we have. Been. Forgiven.