He’s not gonna come running after you. He’s not gonna wipe away the tears and tell you that it’s alright. And no matter what he says, he doesn’t understand. But then, as you walk home alone in the dark, you forgive him, because he is no hero from a movie and there is no rough draft for life. As you walk along crying, wondering when being kind and true to yourself became so difficult, you appreciate just the simple things. Like being alive, thanks to the couple that stops next to you in their fancy car to say: “sweetheart, where are you going? We don’t want you walking in the street alone at night, there is a gang of men coming up behind.”
As you sprint into safety, mere steps ahead of a large group of very sketchy guys, for a split second you picture being one of those girls you hear about on campus who will never again be able to go week in the knees from a kiss on the forehead. You realise that there is so much more out there that is important. ‘It’ is so much bigger than you could possibly imagine. So, I forgive you.
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