Forgiveness

Imelda is silent and it feels like weighty rejection, or disgust. I can’t even look her in the eye. Maybe I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again. She knows the least damning thing about me is that I don’t have my chip. She knows the most damning thing about me is that I’m capable of failure. I’m capable of touching death. I’m capable of existing when I don’t deserve it. The only comfort to what feels like a sunburn in my gut, is that she can never ever hate me more than I hate myself. I feel suspended between my self hatred, my sadness, my desire to be more, and the resignation that I shouldn’t bother. It feels as if someone has tied each of my limbs to a different horse that run in different directions. What I know for certain is that the horse carrying the hatred is the strongest and fastest of them all. He always wins.