not good, but honest

20 years
you’ve haunted me
and I’ve lived more in the haunting than in the knowing.

You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to be haunted anymore.
I may forgive myself.

To reject your ghost
is to be torn again—
this time to tear myself.

What will regrow?
Or reattach?

Am I right to be more afraid than hopeful?
Can you understand peace?
Can you give it?