Last night I had the most vivid, painfully realistic dream about an enemy of mine asking for help. Without hesitation, I lent her a hand and I woke up in panic.
At certain times, I think that my obsession with holding onto grudges constricts me from feeling healthy and happy. I am an individual who is passionate about things that are mine and I will be mercilessly on a wrath until it creates a sick form of contentment within me. But it doesn’t create that, only an illusion of such.
Maybe it’s my conscience telling me to grow up. Maybe it’s my desire to reach the next plateau of good health. Maybe it was karma showing me what could have been a good friendship. Nothing has the momentum to destroy my relationship with my boyfriend unless I let it. Everything else is wasted energy.
I’m sorry, I said. And the words taste like vinegar, the swallowing of pride was worse.