I wrote you a letter, then I threw it away. It was mostly to me; it let me know I’m going to be okay. I’m not walking on water, but I’m treading it fine. I gave up my chains when I realized they were mine.
I learned to turn the light on because it’s hard to beat back the dark when you’re afraid of the light switch. And I learned that in order to listen to God, you have to quit lecturing him, as if I had any business telling him about sin.
I’ve traded hatred for sadness, but not that patronizing pity. This is genuine heartfelt sorrow. Living life with your eyes closed is no away to live; like fleeing from everything outside the scope of your understanding has to be so overwhelming.
But I haven’t fooled myself to believe that I could teach you to see, so I let it go. It’s why I ignored your flare. I wasn’t scared, I just know the nature of a snake is to bite, and I don’t need the venom.
And this is how I know I’ve grown. I have a family now; they need me the way I needed you, and I refuse leave them, else I’d be like you.
Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t forgotten you. I leave you in prayers; it’s where you’re safe. A safe place where you can’t get in my way. I hope you find God; don’t be a slave to your demons; just learn to turn the light on.