I did her wrong.
There’s not much more.
I was calculating, cruel
And far beyond rash.

The gut-wrenching pain the memory gives me
Makes me reel, ache, choke.
But I can’t complain.
I’m the one who dug this grave.
I’m the one who betrayed my friend.

She’s right, you know
That I’m childish, immature
And out of line and lacking sense
And she asked so little of me
Even though it felt like so much more.

I deserve everything I’ve gotten for my heinous crime
Perhaps I deserve even more
Beyond the guilt and self-loathing
That plague me day after day.

My only consolation:
I confessed the whole thing long ago.
I may suffer in Purgatory
But I won’t burn in Hell.

God’s mercy excels.
He forgave me with ease.
But here’s the thing that I must ask:
Do I dare forgive myself?

Helen Sparrow is a student and incorrigible night owl who lives and writes in Dayton, Ohio.