The words I once yearned to hear fall from your lips with silky ease. You dare to think that stopping at my door unannounced, batting your eyelids will equate to my forgiveness? Wicked girl! There is nothing to apologise for. The question of forgiveness is redundant. If anyone should be apologising it is I to you. I’m sorry for doubting you and your fealty. I’m sorry for getting angry and spitting vitriol. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.
For the first time in weeks, months even, the smile that creases my face is the one I remember you induce. I’m glad to know you are safe.
You’ve read the blog now, so I cannot retract any of what I said. Nor do I think I would want to. I know at times my words were laced with ire and frustration. The paradox is that I found it quite cathartic. I did try to balance the diatribe with affection. I’m sorry for twisting your words into things I did not mean.
So here we are, again, as bloodied and bruised veterans of the Battle of Tears Unnumbered. The road from our own private Tullianum is long and it may be potholed, but every promise I have made stands.
I wish you could again take my hand with a grin as you did when we first met.
For the first time in weeks, months even, the smile that creases my face is the one I remember you induce. I’m glad to know you are safe.
You’ve read the blog now, so I cannot retract any of what I said. Nor do I think I would want to. I know at times my words were laced with ire and frustration. The paradox is that I found it quite cathartic. I did try to balance the diatribe with affection. I’m sorry for twisting your words into things I did not mean.
So here we are, again, as bloodied and bruised veterans of the Battle of Tears Unnumbered. The road from our own private Tullianum is long and it may be potholed, but every promise I have made stands.
I wish you could again take my hand with a grin as you did when we first met.
