My mom tells me
"Forgiveness is a journey, not a destination."

I like to believe that.

I like to imagine myself.
One day.
Looking him in the eye and telling him

"You owe me nothing"

I like to imagine this train 
dropping me off in a magical place.
One where his name is casually mentioned
in a conversation,
and my body's natural reaction does not require tears.

I like to picture myself 
scrolling through FaceBook 
to see a picture of him
and continuing on with my day
instead of feeling my stomach turn and my chest tighten.

I enjoy the idea that
one day
I will realize how long it has been 
since I had a nightmare about 
That Day
That House
His Hands
My Small Body
His Eyes.

But I am not there.

This train ride is long.
And it took twelve years to even contemplait purchasing my ticket.

The seats of the train 
are hard.
Uncomfortable.
Painful to sit on for too long.

Sometimes
when the train stops I think
"I could settle for this place"

But as I try to grab my belongings
my mind starts racing.

I look around
and see how far I am from where I started.

I look in the mirror and see my smile.
One that doesn't look forced anymore.

I see my body.
So much stronger than it was on that day.
Bruised
Shaking
Stained from tears I've shed at different points in my life.
But
I am still standing straight.

I smell my clothes
my blankets.
and they smell like 
Her.
Like safety
Like happiness
Like I imagine good memories smell like.
Like the words
"You can cry if you need to"
"It's your pace"
"I can't wait to marry you."

So I convince myself
to set down my things.
I close the blinds to avoid temptations of leaving.

I sit in my seat.

It's still uncomfortable
but 
it's starting to feel right.