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Nonfiction (a story)

The story I tell
Is not of sunshine, warmth, and flowers
He knew it all too well
A silly, dreamy girl
With her innocence up for sale
In the distance sirens screamed
Their ghostly warning wail

Not only innocence did he rob
But love and trust, and dignity
As she sobbed
He stole a year of childhood
Never to return
Only painful memories that burn
Like his letters
The ashes falling from her heart

She opened her door to betrayal
With the perfect trust of a child
She's to blame for a deceit that caught like fire
And spread like wild

Spring returns to tell her all is not lost
She's not been completely used
But there's little left of the gentle soul she was
Raped, dirty, and abused
Discarded by the roadside

Spring has restored her
Carried along the wind
Planting her in new soil
She does not grieve
For the dead person she used to be

Determined to rise above him
She puts away these burdens
Buried away
On the farthest shelf
She has only one question left to ask
"How can I forgive myself?"