Honesty over silence,
a double edged sword,
sometimes words are overkill and don’t do enough to explain how sorry you are.
It’s easy, when someone has hurt me, to write incessantly, my depths of pain seem abysmal cycles repeating, if by my hand fully, even more so, a conundrum with self, my biggest battle;
I don’t want to hurt anyone, but realize I sometimes will.
When real love is so foreign you don’t know how to handle it, to stay present. I’m going to learn. Someday.