I Know

By Peter Bowden
I know you hate me. And I hate myself for knowing this and that I have caused this. You are too good and pure to live with hate. Although I know I find the thought of not having you a part of my life in some way; I can't think of it.

I feel the hurt and anger. Every night as I wait for sleep, the burn and empty and memory -- all those memories. And I know that you hate me.

Can you forgive? Can it be a hate that allows room for something else?

A secret perhaps. A dream of something else. The moon. A piece of music. A dream.

I know. It is not easy. I know.


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