Would I Be Forgiven?

There are things I want to say, things that huddle in my throat, waiting to ambush my tongue and my lips. The rational part of me knows now is not the moment. Too soon. Even if I am willing to say them I know I shouldn't. I know you know. I should wait, hold them back a little longer. Await the perfect moment, the one that would turn them from wrong to right.

And yet.

Still I find myself thinking, they just won't go away. I can't put them to rest and ignore the words. Haunting me, I taste them. Swallowing them leaves a bitter tang but they were so sweet on my tongue. Would they turn to ashes if I accidentally let them slip?

Would I be forgiven?

If I let them slip out, if I could not hold them in anymore, I wonder if you would forgive me. Sometimes I think there would be nothing to forgive. No shame, no pain. If it's true. Yet truth can make a person bleed, and I would hate to find the words cut my lips like razor blades, leaving coppery blood dripping from my chin were I foolish enough to say them. Feeling it thick down my throat, choking me with the metallic tang. Worse still if they hurt you. Far worse if they ever gave you a moment's discomfort.

Would I need forgiveness?

Clenching my jaw will only work so long. One day the words are going to fall from my mouth, bidden or not. One day I will fail and "trying not to say" will become "having said." I will swallow them down too late and find my mouth empty. Find my lips parted as I wait with bated breath. Silent prayers echoing where those words once waited.

Praying for forgiveness.

Praying that you will catch the words and send them back. That they will taste like honey in your mouth. A taste we could share, your mouth sharing secrets with mine as words fade to silence.

I don't want forgiveness.

Acceptance, instead. Repetition and endless echoes. No longer locked away in my throat, no longer silenced and held inside. I long for the day the words are freely spoken, comforting and comfortable, our mouths forming them easily. The taste of honey on our tongues with every syllable.

But for now I'm waiting. I know it isn't time. I am sure of it, because I still worry.

Would I be forgiven?

The End

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