The pillows told me what I have been denying. The ashtray, now empty, takes time to fill itself up. Even my stereo plays a different tune: melancholy. The writings on the wall and I couldn't ignore it.
But I shall overcome. Like I have, in the past, and now.
"I've been spiraling," I texted R. "I thought I was over," I thought to myself.
This morning on a newspaper:"Forgive and be healed." R. shows it to me.
"I have forgiven," I tell her.
"... but you have not healed," she completes the sentence for me.
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