I wish I could tear you into pieces, allow malevolent creatures to consume your already rotten body, and still not call this a sin. But I’m only human, and to think of this is wicked and vile. I am torn whether to pray for you or not at all, but scriptures say, “Love thy enemies.”
But why can I not convince myself to pray for you? What divine intervention do I need to be able to desire your safety, even after what you’ve done?
This seething rage keeps me awake.
What bothers me is how human I am, that I cannot even permit you my forgiveness. Yet the woman you manipulated—a woman I have loved so dearly—still prays that you come clean. She never wanted anything but your happiness. And peace. So how dare you give her heartbreak and chaos in return?