Quiet Places

I am not as okay as I pretend to be, nor am I over it. And I...I can't seem to fathom how each time I reach down to put the pieces back together, you somehow convince me, through religion and hindsight, that there is nothing to see in that mirror.

What are you hiding? What am I hiding from myself? What do you I we not want me to see?

I have lost count of how many times I've sworn that I will never look back, or that I am okay, or that all is finally, this time, truly, really forgiven. (I am not, and it is not.) I don't even know who I am trying to convince when I say, "this time I've really let it all go." I will never really let it go until I truly resolve these things in myself. I will never really let it go until I fit the pieces together and look into that mirror.

No guilt. Not this time. I don't care anymore if this hurts you. This isn't about you. And, truly, I don't care if your names slip from time to time. This isn't about blame. This...this is about confronting the things that keep me up at night. And it will hurt, but unless I set my hands to this and put this to rest, it will always haunt me.

Sparing your feelings is just not that important to me.