Reparation

I am in my childhood home, in mom’s room. C is there and no one else. I walk into the bedroom, where  I experienced so much abuse at the hands of my stepfather.. C. is newly showered. He looks at me and there is no protection in his eyes, no hardness.  He opens his arms and I step into his  embrace. There is forgiveness and nothing to forgive. As we hug, I feel deepening layers of healing and reparation. The past is the past. I lean into the strength of his arms and chest, breathing in the scent of him. Home. I am home.. I realize that he was right when he said, “Some connections maybe too big to be realized on this plane.” We would complicate it in the waking world with our desires and insecurities but here it’s pure and clear and beautiful. 
I didn’t fail in my love for him. I couldn’t. It’s just not mine to know the trajectory of growth our connection inspired in him. I let go. The dream fades. I wake.

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