I forgive you and didn’t realize until yesterday that I needed to.

I hurt you.

You hurt me.

I forgive you.

And if one day you find yourself in a situation that isn’t so clear cut, where you make a choice that forces you to question yourself and what you’re doing and what you want and who you love, and you’re not sure of anything, and regret and certainty teeter shakily, simultaneously at odds and in concert, maybe then you and I might have something in common again. Maybe I’ll be less of a villain and more of a human, like you, like all of us. Maybe then the letter I wrote you will make sense. And maybe not. Maybe we both are who were are, fully formed and certain of/set in our world views, our lines in the sand. From my own experience I don’t think that’s the case for me. I feel change in everything, swirling inside and sparking. Every day is a lesson, every second, every thought. It’s my walk home from the gym, when that one song plays at the exact right moment and the sky is beautiful. It’s the food I eat, the clothes I wear, the route I take to work. It’s being afraid of death and the anticipation of missing my parents. It’s procrastinating on my taxes, it’s my stomach aching from laugher, it’s feeling grateful and full of love. It’s the fear/excitement of what I hardly dare to hope for and it’s the look on his face. Renewal, regret, eyes wide and open and ready, bowed in humility, feeling awake and invincible. Proof that I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive and thank god for that. Thank god that everything is still hard and requires something of me. I’m alive. I’m living. Far from realized or certain or overcome with conviction. And far from lacking fault or blame or the space for derision. And all that’s okay with me. More than okay. I’m alive. I’m living. Constant and full of grace and something worth fighting for.