“So, yeah, I apologise,” she wrote.
I do not know what to forgive.
Can silence forgive a voice?
Can a moment forgive eternity?
Can debris forgive the building?
Can the sea forgive the shore?
Can laughter forgive sorrow?
Can the tree forgive browning leaves?
Can blood forgive a clot?
Can thoughts forgive words?
Can roads forgive a destination?
I don’t want the power to forgive. An apology, and one that comes from someone who does not even know me, is like a dewdrop that sits on a flower. The flower remembers. So I remember, not just as a flower but also as the thorn that pricked itself. Yes, it can happen, it has happened.
I am particularly moved because the note does not say, “I am sorry because you got hurt”, but it says sorry for misdemeanours committed. In a world where everyone is a stranger to each other, including we to ourselves, I can only touch that phrase of apology with my eyes and accept it.