Trespasser

There are wrongs I have done and left behind.  I’ve come clean amongst the boisterous calls and hooting in taverns and over coffee trays.  I’ve whispered and wept in presence and alone a multitude of times countless and calling.
And so, forgiven.  Forgiven and I am not thankful enough.  I have a mouth, yet I cannot speak words.
Not words that would express all that this forgiveness has meant to me.
There is nothing that can be done to change whom I was.  In my hunt for severance from the mortal chill, part of my severance is a gift to forgiveness.  This very forgiveness, my dearest friend.