I am accused. I dream of massacres.
I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them,
Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the
Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
by Sylvia Plath, Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via seabois)
If you really think about it, and search through your mind, you will find dozens of people you haven’t forgiven. All these people NEED to be forgiven before you leave the physical form. Leave no knots in the world. Any knot you leave in the world ties you to it.