![]() That’s why I’m not mad at you, I lost that ability when I was 12. ![]() Some fought, some ran, and some learned to pretend. We did what we had to, anything, to survive. How could we have known? Who should we tell that we had to watch our parents cry? It was for God! Wasn’t it? We were going to be righteous. Regrets we know better than to have, an itch, there to remind us when our minds finally find rest. Familiarity we share, never waiting permission, clumsily pulls us together and tears us apart. Each with a thought of what we would if we could, or maybe what we wouldn’t. And so we go, sometimes forward, sometimes to the places we started, time, unforgiving train, never stopping to wait for any.
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