And I let the music pour into my mind, suffocate the hurt and ravish me till every wound is gone. Flowing over me, soothing the inflamed parts of my soul and bearing me away on it’s buoyant waves. 

Do you remember when we used to drive around? The only thing that filled your car was sunlight and air and the wisps of smoke from the cigarettes we smoked like two parisian sisters. And everyday was a new adventure, where driving to the pharmacy held an inordinate amount of pleasure merely because we were together. And when we held hands it was like our hearts were touching. I could smile in silence and close my eyes and simply be. Some of the best parts of my existence were spent in your passenger seat. My limbs were light as butterfly wings and nothing mattered but devouring that moment.  We existed in a breathless harmony of exuberance and intimacy, of balance and trust. All the moments and memories so taken for granted, blending into the one fantastic feeling of knowing someone more than anyone else. But these moments were as fleeting and fragile as shooting stars, and now moments are all I have left, crumbling into nothing and fading from my memories. But sometimes one passes by, drifting across my thoughts, unhurried and slow, and I remember all the good we had together. 

“A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there were no limits to anything. And the people of the world were good and handsome. And I was not afraid any more.” 
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Humble me in the back of the taxi,

a cozy coccoon, filled with wings, warmth and the light of the moon.

Danielle: I will speak for her. 
[Rodmilla turns around and sees Danielle dressed like a Princess] 
Danielle: She is, after all, my stepmother. 
Rodmilla: [kneels] Your Highness. 
Henry: Marguerite, I don’t believe you’ve met… my wife. 
Danielle: [to Rodmilla, smiling] I want you to know that I will forget you after this moment, and never think of you again. But you, I am quite certain, will think about me every single day for the rest of your life. 

Forgiveness isn’t about forgetting. When one forgets it is only a matter of time before a scent or a glimpse in the street shakes your memories to the top of the pile. You are haunted. And when that happens if you haven’t forgiven, you will stop in your tracks, an assault on your body. Your heart will stutter while your stomach will drop. And you will remember the rage and the anger and pain. Forgiving is about moving on, so when you are reminded it’s a small blip on your minute not a blight on your day. Take the key you have wrapped so tightly around your neck and unlock the betrayed part of your heart. Let the bitterness flow out into the bright sunlight, black and slow moving like tar, watch it crack in the heat. Feel your heart settle back into place in its cavity, no longer weighed down. Feel the spring in your step and the warmth in your chest. Note the smile that lurks in your eyes. You are better for this.

By forgiving you are letting go, of the past, of the hurt, of someone who shouldn’t have been inside. Now you are only you. And that is true freedom. 

Rage

Rage is not like fire

I do not see red

My muscles are taut, my limbs, they lock

My teeth grind in my head

I would pull the feathers from you skin

Stick you with 1000 pins, Bite you from within

I would scream alone in a forest

Filled with naked, emaciated trees

Where their bodies shrivel and keen

Let it rip through my body, so mean

It climbs up every tiny vein

like spiders with tiny needled legs

While my hands curl into talons

Yearning for your flesh

I would hit you where your lies leap out

Each one a poisoned lollipop

Your rotting tongue, decaying mouth

I never want to stop.