I accepted.

20 years, Both sides of the coin have passed. I'm not sure; has it grown better? Nobody knows. But it looks the same to me; the sole difference is my glasses.

My adolescent has led me to my own tomb; I struggle for life because death is so frightening. I was terrified of death, yet those blades seemed to stretch out for my fingertips. God, am I even worthy?

Yet, flashbacks from the past caress me deeply. I can't recall why I dug my own grave, and I never understood why the distance between us was so great while veins of blood curdled in yours and mine.

I am not the forgiver, after all. But is it your fault? Is this my fault? And then, who or what? No changes have been made; I am OK with the way things are. It's time for me to value myself, to be worthy.

Perhaps I'm not a forgiving person. Perhaps I am incapable of being a child. A sibling. A person. Perhaps I am flawed, but that is okay; I can accept that. I have accepted. I am the recipient.