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I Still Find It Hard To Forgive You For All That You’ve Done

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Daria Shevtsova

It feels great that you’re no longer in my life. It feels great to keep you in the past as a memory but sometimes your voice is still in my head. The fears you planted still find a way to creep up on me. The pain you caused doesn’t really want to go away.

I still find it hard to forget what you’ve done. I still find it hard not to picture the life we could have had if you didn’t selfishly tear it all apart.

I still wonder what it’s like to go on a family trip and take family pictures and explore the world together.

I still miss the dinner table with more than one person and big meals and uncontrollable laughter.

I still crave a busy home that never runs out of things to do or talk about. A home where we can all watch a movie on Sunday night. A home where we host people and have big gatherings and play loud music and dance all night. A happy home. A home full of love and warmth.

I still remember glimpses of that home. I never thought that I would end up living away from home. I never thought that home would be a place to dread. I never thought that I’ll be kicked out of my home and find a new one.

I still wonder what it would have been like had you been more present, more reliable, more loving and less selfish.

I find it hard not to blame you. I find it hard to see what other homes look like and forgive you for taking away that feeling from me. Taking away that right. Taking away that security.

I keep looking back at my older pictures. They’re all with friends, colleagues and strangers. None of them are with you. I can’t remember the last time we were all together in one picture. I can’t remember the last time we were all together in one place.

It sounds like a distant memory. More like an outdated story no one wants to tell.

I still find it hard to forgive you because that’s the only story I ever wanted to live. I find it hard to forgive you because I have to rewrite a new story and sometimes I don’t know what to write. I run out of ideas. I run out of words. It’s hard to write a story when every single character you ever truly needed doesn’t want to be in it. 

But I guess that’s the whole point. I guess God wanted me to live another story away from you. I guess he wanted me to take another picture without you in it. I guess he wanted me to travel the world without you holding my hand. I guess he wanted to shelter me away from your pain, even if it means finding another home that doesn’t have your name on it. TC mark

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