There won’t be a sorry. And you have always known this on some level.

In the end you cannot make anyone see. You cannot clean yourself up in anyone else’s mess. You can only stay still and watch all that is being mis/taken.

In the rupture, all those love letters seem so foolish. All the times you blindly believed in a return to faith and even truth.

You did unto others as you would have them do unto you…or was it you did unto others what was done to you, but yet you got such a different response.

You remember being dragged to a court of law even though you never knew that these were the rules.

There’s been some sort of mistake officer. You can’t recognize who these characters are that you’re sleeping with but all the same, you feel guilty.

It isn’t always and it hasn’t been fair and that’s why you cherish those moments that feel sweet, like coming home my prodigal son, like being understood and thus forgiven.

I wake up without the white hair that I saw in my dream. perhaps it’s a strange place to begin but these days I wake up laughing as the sun comes up. perhaps it’s strange to begin here with this thought but it seems so natural that i am the woman in my dreams with long white hair.

In the morning I check to see how much there is and i am indifferent to the idea that this is improbable. I am actually surprised each time it isn’t seen there on my head because I feel it even if it is wrapped under a sea of dark brown.