Perspective.

I came home tonight and didn't feel like being social. I texted several people and that was more than enough for me. I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a bit.

Perspective.

I feel like I keep hoping back and forth between two angles. Like those shots in the movies where they only light half a characters face. One moment I'm on the right side, looking at the lit half and the next moment I'm on the left side staring at a face swathed in darkness. I don't know which is more accurate or if they are both parts of the same whole.

Perspective.

I feel like I keep running my fingers down the dull edge of a knife. Until I get complacent and begin to think of the knife as a thing no so dangerous. But my fingertips keep getting bloodied by the sharp, sharp point.

Perspective.

I feel like sometimes people we love say things that hurt and upset us and it isn't always possible to tell if they meant to cause pain or if it was accidental. If he laughs when I'm angry because that was the intended result or if it is because he is uncomfortable and sorry and doesn't know how to fix it. And perhaps I get unreasonably angry with him when I wouldn't be so upset with another person. Or perhaps I am unreasonable patient with him when I wouldn't put up with quite so many missteps with another person.

Perspective.

I told another friend of mine this once and I'll say it again: I will forgive you over and over again. Even when you hurt me on purpose. Even when you don't even care. As long as you keep wanting my forgiveness, it is yours. Because I love you and I don't want you to hurt the way you make me hurt. But each time I'll step back just a little more so you can't hurt me as much as you did before. Because I love you but I love me too.

Perspective.