FORGIVENESS / SOFTNESS

Letter 029 NEW

Some of You, I’d Forgive Tomorrow.

I’ve written a lot about leaving.

About boundaries.

About learning not to mistake missing someone for a reason to go back.

And I believe all of it.

But there’s something else I need to admit.

There are people I would forgive tomorrow.

Not everyone.

That distinction matters.

There are doors I closed because they needed to stay closed.

There are people I can forgive from very far away.

There are apologies that wouldn't change anything.

And there are people whose names could appear on my phone tomorrow and completely rearrange my day.

People I don't just forgive.

People I still want back.

I don't know if that's the version of healing I'm supposed to admit to.

We're very good at celebrating the moment someone finally says:

I'm done.

We don't talk as much about the people you aren't done loving.

The ones where the anger eventually got quieter but the affection didn't.

The ones you can understand hurt you without turning them into villains.

The ones you wish had made a different choice.

The ones where, underneath everything that happened, some small part of you is still thinking:

If you came back differently, I would meet you differently too.

That doesn't mean nothing happened.

Forgiveness isn't amnesia.

It doesn't require me to pretend I wasn't hurt just because I would be willing to hear you say you're sorry.

And wanting someone back doesn't mean giving them permission to come back exactly as they were.

That's the difference I didn't understand before.

I used to think the choices were:

Hold the boundary.

Or love the person.

Protect yourself.

Or forgive them.

Move forward.

Or leave the door unlocked.

Maybe sometimes the answer is more complicated.

Maybe I can lock the door and still hope someday you knock.

Maybe I can require an apology and already know I'd accept it.

Maybe I can have standards for your return without pretending I don't want one.

Because for some people, reconciliation would cost me myself.

I've learned that lesson.

But for others?

I don't need revenge.

I don't need years of explanations.

I don't even need you to find the perfect words.

I think I would just need to know that you understand now.

That you know what happened between us mattered.

That losing me mattered.

That if we tried again—in whatever form again means—we wouldn't pretend none of it happened.

And maybe you're never coming back.

I'm learning how to live with that possibility too.

But healing hasn't made me indifferent.

It hasn't made every person replaceable.

And it hasn't turned every ending into one I secretly wanted.

There are people I'm glad I left.

There are people I finally learned to live without.

And then—

there are a few of you I would forgive tomorrow.

Not because I've forgotten what happened.

Not because I haven't grown.

But because after everything I've learned about boundaries, loss, love, and myself—

I still know the difference between a door I needed to close
and a door I wish someone would knock on.

— Me