I’m sorry. The words rise instinctively to my lips, but I push them down, seal them shut with the part of me that believes everyone else’s happiness should come at the expense of my own. Try something different for once. “Thank you,” I say quietly. It feels foreign. Strange. Yet it tastes sweet on my tongue, like forgiveness, like the rising spring air, like the lingering scent of strawberry shortcakes. Like a beginning.
thas my girl
