The Lie of Forgiveness

Betrayal is strange— once you’ve done it, you kneel for forgiveness as if asking someone to betray themselves for your sake. You want their mercy, but mercy means bending a rule they never thought they’d break. And forgiveness? It’s a well-dressed lie. A theater of healing played in cracked mirrors. You think once the word is spoken, the weight dissolves, that time rewinds. But we both know— it doesn’t. Even the forgiver feels the shadow. We hold hands, but check the grip. We laugh, but hear the echo. We love, but we measure it now. Is it really forgiveness if the heart still flinches when the wind shifts? Or maybe it’s just me— counting how many times I almost choose pettiness over peace, truth over kindness, pride over grace. Maybe I’ve forgiven. Maybe I’ve only paused the punishment. Maybe we never forgive. We just forget to stay angry.