I am focused on the future; it appears sharp and clear like a promise. I give myself what I need: read long books, take naps, kiss slow. Everything that was has been left behind. I smear the past with the pad of my thumb until it blurs and I can barely make out this from that. I’ve learned to laugh at what I once lost sleep over. I turn my forgiveness inwards, to the one person who truly deserved it, and was always denied. Yes, I think this might be a love story between me and my life. I hold on tight. I’ve always wanted this.