By Samantha Syrnich
© 2025 The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth
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Forgiveness,
I learned,
is not a key you hand
to those who shattered your peace.
It is the slow unbinding of your own wrists,
the quiet undoing of chains they cannot see.
It took years of storms within me
to understand—
it isn’t mercy for the ones who wounded,
but medicine for the one who bled.
I once thought to forgive
meant to bless the blade that cut me,
to smile at cruelty and call it growth—
but now I know:
it is simply the choice
to stop letting their shadow
decide where my light may go.
Forgiveness is not forgetfulness.
It is a reclamation—
a soft rebellion that says:
you may have bruised me,
but you will not live rent-free
in the tender rooms of my heart.
So I lay it down—
the weight,
the ache,
the endless replay.
I do not forgive because they deserve it;
I forgive because I do.
The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth 