Maybe forgiveness changes too much,
He said. It’s too powerful an act,
Too dangerous, extreme. What you want
Is a story you can remember,
Which means something packaged, with an end—
Terminal or serial is fine,
But end before you begin again.
Forgiveness is anti-narrative.
It eats away wherever it spills,
An acid on any incident.
As a device, it’s like amnesias,
Comas, and it-was-all-a-dream scenes.
It half destroys everything before,
Invalidates the causal sequence.
It’s good for keeping story open,
The way leeches are good for bleeding,
Anti-coagulant. Then he paused.
But if you can live outside the tale. . . .
Monday, January 10, 2022
Dissolve
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