...

I couldn't love you because of my fear.

Everything I ever learned growing up taught me 
that I couldn't love the children of other Gods.

Other gods were wrong &
Dangerous.

And so I feared you, even as my heart accepted you.

And then I lost you in my fear:  drowned
you out.
Buried you 
under prejudice and preconception,
lit the match &
ran.

Too close. 

​I didn't run far enough & 
like Lot's wife; I turned to look, &
there you were,
burning & 
it was my fault.

& I'm sorry.

& I know I can't make it better by saying it.

But I want to say to say it, 'cause it makes me human again &
you not burning &
me not turned to salt.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.