Now that the treatment and anti-depressants and seven months sober have built me a bed in the back of your brain, where the memories flicker, and I paw at the synapses, bright bits of string, you should know I am with you. Know I forgive you. Know I am proud of the steps that you’ve made. Know it will never be easy or simple. Know I will dig in my claws when you stray. So let us rest here, like we used to, in a line of late-afternoon sun. Let it rest—
all you can’t change. Let it rest and be done.
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