I hope you’re better to her than you were to me. I hope you’ve changed, for her sake.

I’ve buried you. I threw out all your emails a long time ago. I wish I could’ve thrown out the memories. That was wrong of you–so very wrong of you, what you did to me. I forgive you. But it is not forgotten. My Savior holds all my tears in a bottle, and He will call you to account for how you treated me.

I don’t know why I kept those things all these years. Maybe it’s because I liked them. I liked the leaf brooch. And the carving came from Ireland. So, I kept them.

They’re in the garbage now, as they have belonged all along.

You should have never treated me the way you did. You ripped me apart and took everything from me, except that which is ‘Christian’ly wrong to take from a young woman. May God judge you.

But my God is a Redeemer. He will redeem.

The scent of spring: Rich with the dark earth beneath my feet, fresh with the wild outdoors rushing through my hair, green as all the new growth. I am an innocent and will always be such. Even such a one as you cannot take that from me.

Oh Jesus, my sweet Jesus. Jesus was the one there all along. My distant faerie hills belong to Him. My butternut tree phantom flights belong to Him. All my sweet words and memories belong to Him, and even you cannot soil them. They were never yours. I was never yours. I was just something you used for your selfish emotional pleasure.

The scent of spring. My Rochester home. The scent of spring. Winter is here. I am in the depth of winter, and I am so very happy. And spring will come soon, and in that spring, I will be happy. All things beautiful belong to the Creator, my Redeemer.

You are dead and buried, your ‘gifts’ in the garbage where they belong. Outside it is dark, very dark. The wind rushes through the trees, and I drink in the sight of the moon. I drink in the fresh scent of the outdoors–the scent of spring. I am free.