Hero/Villain

I am neither hero nor villain. I am neither flaw nor perfection. The hero I make myself out to be when I run from the ways I’ve hurt people has come to lay herself at the sacrificial altar. She offers obsession, resentment, and judgement to the fire of the funeral pyre.

The irredeemable villain I thought I was when I split my pain into pieces and gifted them to the unsuspecting, is performing the eulogy. A mournful reminder that we are yet human, that we hurt and are hurt. That I am whole no matter what fragments, worn from my battles, may have splintered and drawn blood from those around me. That though no apologies can be offered, the edges of me can be sculpted and sanded into better.

And when the sermon is finished, the villain offers herself to the fire of atonement as well.

Healing burns through flesh left tender by emotion. By weight.

From the death of dichotomy, comes release.