I picked the chess pieces up from off the floor
and swept away the dust you shook off your feet,
resolving to give in to my inability to forget (but to fight against my inability to forgive).
Grace I will give, lower expectations I can never give…
Because I love you.
But you have chosen the circle in which you wish to dwell;
I have chosen to wish you well.
And now the salt I fought arduously against has lost its sting.
The wound has almost healed, and I walk on to hatefully spite the aching.
Forgive you, I must; forgive you I will.
Forgive you, I do.
And as for the trust you all but killed,
I believe the bones will live, the Word fulfilled.
And in all these things…
He, yes He… He wins.
He wins.
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