Dream of Forgiveness

For the longest time, I could not speak your name. I could not write it; I could not bear to think it. I was angry. I was too young, too vulnerable, too powerless. There was no justice for me, a mere girl. I hated you. Every fiber of my being writhed. You became the scapegoat for my every misery. I blamed me. Was it my fault? I did not scream. I did not fight, I did not kick, I did not wail. I froze. When I needed my strength and spirit the most, It failed me; it sputtered into cold icy droplets. I dreamed. Years later, suddenly, for no reason at all, You came to me in a dream. You were real. For the first time, it was not a reenactment Of the unspeakable things you did to me. An actual person. You had not changed much physically; You will always look the way you did on that day. But you apologized. You said you were tired of having to live with it, You said you did feel the remorse all those years. Too many years. No more would you be the perpetrator. You were tired of living with that weight. Too heavy a burden. I thought I would be enraged. After all, one of my greatest pains back then, One of the worst emotions that tore through my soul like a howling, black wind: the excruciating, heart-stopping fear that you had no remorse. After all, there had been no repercussion for you. No justice for me. Instead, I felt... understanding. We have suffered, the two of us, for too many years. Five years. I refused to look you in the face, or speak your name. But at last, after struggling so arduously, I knew: I forgive you.