[fbshare type=”button”] [pinterest count=”horizontal”]
I spoke some hard words today. I offered up a kindness, a love and a trust that I didn’t have to ever speak of again…but I offered it. I offered shelter in an unexpected storm and to be able to offer that shelter meant forgiveness of everything dark that had transpired. It was hard for me to even speak the words, but I knew it was the right and true thing to do, so I put them out there. They were dismissed so quickly I repeated myself a few minutes later, thinking the words must’ve been misunderstood. These words were monumental for me to speak. They were a second chance, they were a white flag, they were an olive branch, if not the whole fucking olive tree. They were something I never had to offer or suggest again in this lifetime, but I spoke them, managed to say them without choking up somehow.
The words weren’t misunderstood. I was promptly put in my place, a place where I am reminded that being vulnerable, loving and giving is generally rewarded with a punishment. Standing on a bridge to meet someone halfway, and instead I get thrown over the railing.
I don’t regret offering love and trust in the eye of a hurricane. I only wish the love was returned in kind instead of rebuffed, shrugged off like it’s commonplace, trite. There’s nothing commonplace about second chances, nothing commonplace about forgiveness.