1
It is dark and you are tired and you are cold, but you are sat across from a beautiful woman and you feel like you should be apologizing. You’ve found the old gods in this endless space between the two of you (which is really no space at all) and you are thinking please, please forgive me.
2
You are small, smaller than anything, smaller than your father’s thumb. You’re learning what seven times eight is and spelling hippopotamus and you’re skipping a grade and everything is so much, so bright, so fast. The weekend lends itself to hymnals and the pastor is speaking, your mother is teaching, they are telling you what words to sing in the choir, but all you can think of is that lovely girl’s Sunday best.
3
These stone walls tell you that you are not a sin if you beg when you’re finished. Your knees are sore and bruised and dirty and you keep saying you’re sorry and nothing ever sticks. You can feel His hand upon your shoulder and for a moment you think that maybe this is that sweet maple sundrop, that whisper, that promise, that everything will be okay, but His grip tightens and tightens and burns. He is pushing you down and you can feel the flames at your heels and you are weeping, you’re begging Him not to make you like this. You can almost see His eyes when He refuses.
4
You are lighting a candle. Your name is something, but you can’t put your finger on it. All you know is the water you are sinking into, hot and clear, not the salt of that drown they dipped you into, not that drip drip drip of redemption. There is no rebirth on the other side of this bathtub, but there is smoke and crystals and a song just out of reach, and Her hands are on your shoulders. She is helping you up, She is kissing it better, She is red and pink and white and She tells you that you are clean.
5
The streets here are full and you cannot see through this rain of confetti. The thunder comes in the pounding of feet and the laughter of those you blinded yourself to ignore, and they are telling you that you are one of them. Your name is on the tip of your tongue but you cannot tell them what it is and you say you’re sorry. And they say it’s alright. They say there’s nothing to apologize for. There never has been.
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