Don’t look at me that way, as if you know all you need to know about me.
Don’t use that word, or those. Â I don’t care what you think or how you were raised. Â You’re wrong.
I know, yes, you’re sorry. Â You didn’t mean to offend. But, please
Don’t you think I know that, too? Â That you meant well, that you were trying to be polite, that it’s confusing?
Don’t apologize unless you really mean it. Â Have some respect for yourself, if not for me. Â Don’t apologize unless it’s a promise to change. Â If you’re not going to change, don’t pollute the air, and your soul, with lies.
I forgive you. Â I forgive your trespass as I hope my own trespasses were forgiven. Â Or will be, someday.
My own ignorance is not so old that it is forgotten. Â At least half of the bile rising in my throat right now is an echo, a bitter memory of my own inglorious past.
I know, yes, Â of course, you’ll do better next time, or the next. Â I know, you promise to keep trying for as many next times as it takes. Â I know that promise well.
I can see myself in the mirrored reflection of your eyes, I remember too well the confusion, the fear of making a mistake, of doing it wrong. Â My past mocks me with time worn replays of my own missteps.
No, it’s fine. Â It’s a payback of sorts, a lesson. Â I hope your lessons treat you better than mine. Â I wish you the best, truly.
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