I must keep from breaking into the story of your past, for you are real, you are more real than your history. You carry the weight of what happened to you, what was done to you…
But that is not who you are.
Memories become heavier the longer we carry them but when you try to rest your burden, it is reloaded by our definition of you. We call you victim, we see you as damaged, as broken…
But you are more.
You are not what he did, what he decided you were. You are your choices. Everyday that you rise, you choose to be here. You choose to survive, to be more than your past. You become more real everyday as you release the pain.
Until, one day, you will be present. Not past, here not there. And when that day comes, I will be here. Standing beside you, helping you bury the dead. Placing all that pain in a place you will no longer visit. For it will be nothing but the ashes of someone else’s bad choices.
You will step away, lightly in song, rejoicing in the feeling of love.
For your past has passed
And you are real.
