how awful

You beg me to forgive you. You tell me you are hurting too and that you're getting what you deserve. You tell me that to move forward, I must forgive you like it is expected of me. You say you are fucked up, which is why you hurt me.

You say holding on to the anger, and the resentment will only hurt me further. You suggest that forgiving you will bring me peace, that I should be the bigger person and accept your apology, as though it were so simple.

You don't realise that if I forgive you, I must accept the reality that you never truly cared about my feelings. If I forgive you, you can resume your life unburdened by remorse or guilt. At this point, I doubt if you are even capable of feeling remorse. If I forgive you, I am letting you off scot-free. Though your transgressions are not legally punishable, they still inflict significant pain—deliberate pain. If I forgive you, I forsake the notion of poetic justice.

After 42 days, I decide to forgive you. It is not because I wanted peace or to be the bigger person. Fuck that. I choose to forgive you because I choose to acknowledge and accept that life will always be fucking unfair. And once or twice in your life, a character extremely toxic will hurt you beyond words—a character like you. I forgive you, and I accept you for the fraud that you are. Acceptance of your deceit, your selfish declarations, and your delusion that my forgiveness will liberate me.

Very well then, here is your forgiveness. And fuck you.