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I am a room.
I am dark, foreboding, cold, and damp.
I have no windows, no lighting, and just one chair.
I am called the room of remorse and regret.
I am a room
He comes to whenever he is depressed or in grief.
He crawls inside on his hands and knees
And he tells me all his mistakes,
All his failures,
All his regrets.
I am a room
Where he comes to grieve over lives lost
And all the things he thinks she should have done,
And failed.
I am a room
Where he comes to breathe his mistakes,
Where he can re-live his shame,
Where he can ponder his ugliness,
Where his ghosts can come and haunt him.
I am a room.
But there is another room next to me.
When he is ready,
He can release himself of me
And enter the room next to me
Where his life can get re-started.
Where he is free of dwelling on the past,
Where forgiveness can begin.........
Again.
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