The Other Side of Wreckage

The wolf on my finger is fading, and the pain is turning to grey along with it. The hatred I harbor, I try to put to death, but my heart never sleeps and my mind grips too tight to

just

let

go.

He was a fire, a beautiful act of arson that incinerated all the good in my being and burned the bridge along with me. But after the carnage, there's room for new things to grow. The ecosystem of the spirit slowly wakes from the ashes and rises from the charred floor. Shouldn't I just be grateful that he gave me the chance to begin again? 

I am grateful, but the scars still run red. I work to forgive the matches and the gasoline, but pointing fingers is easier than saying "Go in peace." 

I found love on the other side of the wreckage, and in my deepest burns, I still hope he finds love, too.