bravery is to view the past and let it go
it is a hard thing to do - it eats at the good
leaves the bad as thoughts dispelled to the
where bouts all cars are left alone, parked
above on a cool december night, reclaimed
as a matter of right - if you ever do ask i'll
tell you i came back for my shawl - yet this
is false - i came back because i had used the
past to define my present: when i returned
it was like time had lapsed into my identity
i wanted nothing more than to be held, the exit
momentary - an imaginary delusion on my part
the truth is it was my reaction to my existence
that creates my being - and as i stared past the
picture in the bathroom - the one with the tree
and the window shutter - i realized that that was
the moment i had waited for all night - a simple forgiveness of my past
i left my heels off as i walked back to my car
