Forgive and Forget
 

Tell me, Are you really leaving?
I fell so far,
I'm almost on the ceiling.
You said I've got a way with words.
I'm not so sure,
But baby I know I got away with murder.

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I understand the guilt you carry around inside you, just underneath your skin. Things you should have done, lives you could have saved. In your mind, responsibilities are there to be faced up to. No matter what the cost. That gnawing, aching sense of regret that's always at the back of your mind. I feel it too, every day of my life. I committed terrible crimes, hurt others the way I'd been hurt myself, and then some. You never forgave me. It never crossed your mind that there may be something to forgive. Even when I'm at my worst, all you can see is the good in me. All you can see is you in me.

I live for those moments of tenderness, when the walls you've built around you come tumbling down. But never far enough. I can still feel the warmth of your hand on my shoulder, your nervous breath on my skin as your palm hovered uncertainly for a moment, before allowing yourself to comfort me. I could feel everything in that touch, how you wanted to hold me, stroke my hair, take away all my hurt and confusion with one loving embrace. I also felt the restrain, the regret. How you wanted to run away. You're lonely, Kathryn. Just as lonely as I am, but we're both too proud to admit it, admit how much we need one another. Instead, just that same old unspoken rapport. But I think that famous steely self control of yours is cracking.

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So then,
Here we are.
Full circle.
And I'm tired
Of the romantic hard-sell.
You know, those sentimental lines are where we went wrong,
'Cause all those movie kisses just last too long.

So let's push the curtains back.
Let's give this love a heart attack.

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You ration yourself glances in my direction, the fleeting physical contact that terrifies you, that sends electric currents through the both of us. But there's a need burning behind those big blue eyes, a need that's dangerous, that can't be contained for much longer. Underneath that cool, collected surface is a tumult of clashing emotions. The pain in your eyes is there for all to see, if one knows where to look. You're tired of denying yourself all those things you're not supposed to want, tired of carrying the weight of the world on your back. And when you told me I always know where to find you, I read between the lines. If we can share our guilt with one another, maybe we can ease some of the pain. You offer yourself to me as confessor, but I can't help wondering what you get out of it, if you expunge your guilt by proxy, somehow.

In some other time, some other place, you would have unveiled your secrets in a cool dark chamber to a richly robed man toying with a crucifix, the scent of incense still lingering in the air. But here, you have no chance of absolution. Your sins, real or imaginary, must weigh you down oppressively, until any respite would be welcomed.

Would you welcome the kind of release you could get in my arms, Kathryn? I could hold you, lull you to an easy, dreamless sleep, watch you wake refreshed, without those ugly purple smudges beneath eyes that are losing their lustre. . .

And, in turn, I could vent my remorse in your presence, make you see what it is I have to live with. You don't want to hear it, I know. Don't want to accept what I did, whether I did it willingly and wittingly or no. These hands that long to stroke your skin, to pull you tight and close against me, are covered in the blood of the innocent. Wash them clean for me, Kathryn. Wash away my sins and let me cleanse you of your agony. . .

---

Now, babe,
Get out your theory
And we can Explain away the mystery.
'Cause you painted me in chromakey blue
And kept me thin
So I would disappear when you put your landscape in.
Guess I had my red shoes on
So I struck a match and let's move on.

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You sculpted me in your image, but I broke the mould. I can't escape the fetters of my past, they drag me down, drag me away from you. It's a reflex that kicks in � maybe it's just psychological, maybe I'm just scared to be happy. Does my need for atonement spring only from self-hatred? I could cope with that, a human response. Manageable. But my most secret fear makes me wonder if it's deeper than that, that I will be forever scarred by what they did to me. Those lost twenty years that elicit your sympathy, that make you feel the pain almost as keenly as I do, will that loss ever leave me? I will always be the other, always be apart from the rest of society, apart from you. I am afraid that I am unable to love, to let myself be loved. But an anger boils inside me, so hot it scalds my heart. That bitch robbed me of my past, I cannot give her our future as well. That tone of your voice, the touch of your trembling hand � my fears are yours, too. We connect, you and I. I will come to you because you spoke the truth today. I will always know where to find you.

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Here it is
The not-so-happy ending
We've done Our picket fence defending
We did Bogart and Bacall
And now the spotlight's gone
And anyway All those movie kisses just last too long.

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The End