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Poem

I refused to look you in the face, or speak your name.
But at last, at long last, I knew:

I forgive you.

Or at least I want to.

After five years of knowing that the pain was tearing me apart,
After three years of knowing forgiving you was in my best interest,
After one year of trying to convince myself to forgive you...
After one dream in which you were in a human being instead of a monster,
I finally want to forgive you.

It has been so long since I looked at your name.
It has been so long since I've written your name.
It still weighs down my hand like lead, but I shakily lift my pen and place it on the paper.
It is time to forgive.

I write it again and again.
I remind myself that you are a human being, not a monster.
It is time to forgive. 

A nosy bystander looks over. 
They assume I must be in love with you.
Why else would I write your name again and again,
until it begins to flow off the paper like a river of black ink?
Once, I would've been angry.
"Where were you, nosy bystander,
when I was alone and defenseless?
Where were you, nosy bystander,
when a naive girl was ruined?"

But I'm not angry anymore.
I'm not ruined anymore.
Because it is time to forgive.

For the first time, I can recall your face,
without cringing and feeling your touch on my body,
without choking on the oxygen that I'm trying to breathe in,
without burying myself in as many layers of clothing and blankets and mattresses and buildings as I can.

I can think your name, can write your name, 
I can even speak your name. 

Because, V, it is time to forgive.

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