And I remember how you looked, bent over me.

Your greasy hair, drooping into my innocent little face.

Your cruel face twisted into a grimace of pleasurable concentration.

And I remember how you smelled, your body close to mine.

Like cigarettes and dust from old couches.

Your sour breath panting into my face.

And I remember how you sounded, your desperate groans.

Loud and sudden, like a bull snorting.

Wrong, so wrong for a little girl to hear.

And I remember how you felt, rough as I tried to push you away.

Your calloused hands on my shoulders, holding me down.

Your peeling, sunburned nose buried in my neck.

I remember everything.

And I hate it, with every fiber of my being.

You.

You made me this way.

With your sick, twisted ways.

You.

I hate you.

But.

But.

But although you hurt me.

Although you destroyed my innocence.

I forgive you.

I forgive your sins.

And though it pains me to do so,

I still forgive you.

That does not mean I love you.

That does not mean you get to come back into my life.

That does not mean I have fully healed.

It means I'm moving on.

It means I will not waste any more emotion on you.