Late one evening, I wait

silently praying for an answer to wash away the pain

the sorrow, the anguish, the guilt

that has carved its way into my heart; its desperate hands

folding its fingers in a design so intricate that my chest tightens,

constricts like a giant cobra, piercing its way into the most softest and deepest

parts of my body.

Please, I plead, though it is more like a demand, anxiously insistent on this feeling to subside.

Perhaps it was my slow breathing or the heavy pants of my chest,

so wild in the most sublime moments, or the weight of my hand, knotting into fists, or the lack

of control of my body as it convulsively shakes and contorts.

What have I become?

A monster?

Or a gargantuan, repulsion of my own emotions?

This fresh, profound force that envelops me is strangely

my own, entangled with the thoughts of despair.

Gently, I try to unwrap the vines, as if I was tearing away the

wrapping paper off of a Christmas gift.

Gently, I try to unfold the leaves of distress and replace it with

A new and remarkable gift:

Forgiveness

So much that was lost was slowly retained

Gradually recovered; reborn.