S'okay.

I always say that its okay and that everything is no big deal, whether its a D in APUSH or another B in calc, whether its the expected loss in badminton or some embarrassing moment when people drop food on themselves. Its okay to feel like crap every morning, almost, and sometimes, its even okay to feel like crap going to sleep. Its okay to have emotional misunderstandings and its okay if my parents anger for no good reason. What is anything in light of eternity? For if I could speak in tongues and have all the world's knowledge, but have not love, I am nothing, we are nothing. 1 Corinthians 13!  So, by default, basically, everything is okay.

Yet in my conviction that its okay, its not, supposedly, allegedly, and it matters very much. Its not okay because in my imperfect forgiveness, there is an underwhelming anger that rises on cue with every reminder, a barely restrained urge to reciprocate some tangible level of pain - a sadness, apparently, because even when I smile and cringe at the same time, repeating that its okay, there are uncontrollable tears swelling beneath my eyes. Every time, a gloomy dullness presses me, which, in some sadist, ironic way, breaks my closing heart, but not for myself, I guess, but for something sacred and, regardless of circumstances, singularly possessed.