I look out the window and look at the Welsh hills, the car hits a small bump and I let out a smile. The Sun is setting and music is playing in the background.
You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened, love. My friend says and I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
I look at the Welsh hills, say a silent prayer. I used to wish for some things to not have happened to me. Now I don’t. Now, after all the screaming and the crying, I only try to come to terms with the things that happened to me and the things I did. All the mistakes, all the pain they caused me, all the pain I caused while trying to save myself.
You did what you could, you did the best you could. I remember my mother’s kind words, they sound sweet and taste like honeyed tea. Maybe it’s time you forgave yourself.
I close my eyes and I hear myself screaming, I see blood in white tiles, I hear the chirping of birds at 5 am after an infernal sleepless night, I hear the pain in the voices of the only two people I never wanted to hurt, I see blood dripping from shaking fingers and my nose catches the pungent smell of panicked sweat. I open my eyes and the Welsh hills are a sight for sore eyes, they cocoon me, envelop me in a green blanket that smells like salt water and the future. It is not the end of the journey, not by a long shot. But I am learning, slowly, to let the guilt go.
Yes, maybe it is time.