Forgiveness
I would give you a fistful of roses, no thorns, the kiss of ten thousand fireflies in the dark, a rain cloud that persists but doesn’t shed a drop.
I would ask you what about me was so repulsive, you drove away in the stick shift you don’t know how to drive in. Quickly, like a dust storm was about to hit Oklahoma.
I would crack an egg into the cake of your consciousness, swirl the icing around it like a salsa dance twist. Add cream, cover it in sprinkles. Make like a mixer and destroy the streaks of flour intertwined amongst the batter.
We were once perfect.
I would ask you what about me made you leave so suddenly, a strike of lightning on a golf club’s metal, held up out of spite to our friendship, to our twin-like personalities, in the name of - what, exactly?
I would ask if it was my past, if it bit you like a pit bull without the training to erase its natural violent urges.
I would make my past somehow make sense to you, a face-up penny, make a wish, throw it in a fountain. Even though now there are rules against that.
We were once the splash that follows a wave crashing down, angry and loud. Our voices like one in a vacuum, sucked in by the black hole of togetherness. We were friends - or as they say, we had the same enemies. That’s middle school
for you.
I would make it appropriate to hug someone lost a long time ago. I almost want to apologize for our government, the way things are now. It wasn’t like this, not when we were innocent.
I would make my past add up evenly, a straight flush, a game of cards you can always win at. Not that you deserve it.
You don’t deserve forgiveness, but I’ll grant you that small mercy, as the wasp sees the human, and decides to keep its stinger.
You don’t deserve forgiveness, and it will be like a phone and ring repeatedly, going straight to voicemail, a blocked number you can’t remember ever dialing to begin with.
We were once young, ethereal, a smoke signal you can see for miles.
Now we are ashes, dust, an 80’s theme song, forgotten and bitter for being gone.