Vulnerable as fear and exposing as apology, forgiveness refuses to come willingly or in good time. She sits as a Muse on a rock, detached, disconnected, loosened from the actions that came before her. Pondering, she understands that her movement must be intentional, but above all, full of authenticity and so she remains still, silent, contemplating if her weighty steps are not justified, or deserving, but apt for occasion.
She requires nothing else other than her own choices. Her decision is wholly based upon nothing more than whether she choices to place a full stop at the end of conflict, or not. Reliant only on her own resolve, it is easy to understand why she does not rush. Why would you? When words are said so hastily in anger, tumbling over one another in their hurry to fall into the open. She’s watched the smack of hatred crash to the ground, irretrievable and irreparable, were it not for her. For forgiveness, silence does the heavy lifting, and my my, can she lift and then some.
Blinking slowly, taking a breath, she puts right where all others have not, and all the while, not giving them a second thought for it.