Some things don't go back to normal, even after an apology. Once you’ve seen how someone can hurt you, you can’t unsee it. You can forgive and even laugh together like nothing happened, but a part of you will always remember how it felt, and that changes everything.
Oh, good Lord, what it means to be alone
I knew well, I knew hell, and now I don't
Tell me, love, if the devil ever comes
To make good on the debts that I owe
Wish me well, tell the stories I would tell
Go ahead, make a few of your own
A few of your own
If I ever cry to God about you, just know we're never speaking again. Because I don't bring him my small things. I don’t bring him the inconveniences, the missed calls, I don't bring him the people who only knew how to love me over the weekends.
In fact I bring him my wounds, the ones I can't stich myself, the ones too deep for my own hands. And I also bring in the names left scars my journal couldn't carry. So if your name made it to my prayer. If I dropped to my knees shaking asking him to either change you or me I need you to understand what that means. It means you broke something in me so deep, so far I didn't have the tools to fix myself. It means I ran out human strength and I had to borrow from heaven just to survive what loving you cost me.
And the moment he answered... The moment peace replace pain, the moment clarity replaced confusion, the moment my appetite come back and my sleep stopped like punishment. That was him closing the door I kept trying to leave, just a crack open.
So no, we're never speaking again. Not because I hate nor I'm bitter, but because I ask God for peace. And peace doesn't share a room with the person who stole it.