
Buried a little further, in sodden soils and balding grass, are the manifold agonies hardly ever silenced. These are the shadows that follow me everywhere― etching themselves onto my skin, digging deep with their claws, infiltrating my purpling veins, rusting the way I see the world. They are the screams and wails that scraped my throat. Here lie the sins I haven’t forgiven myself from, perhaps I couldn’t, for ten, twenty, thirty more years―not until the lips that utter the apology learn not to tremble terribly to speak of forgiveness.