And can we ever really leave behind the things we’ve done? Because no matter how sorry we might feel for doing something horrible, it’s still happened—and most horrible actions have consequences that can’t be undone with regret. What about those things? What happens to them? Do they just rattle around in our souls, making noise, keeping us awake, long after our knees have grown bloody from kneeling in sorrow? Maybe at some point we simply have to stand up, bloody knees and all, and move forward anyway—step after step after step with our rattling souls, until time dulls the painful edges like
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