Saint Dirty Face

Closure is overrated.

Half the people who hurt you couldn’t explain themselves if you gave them a microphone, a whiteboard, and three business days.

Yet we wait.

For the apology.

The explanation.

The conversation where everything finally makes sense.

The moment they look us in the eye and say:

You were right. I understand what I did.

Sometimes that moment comes.

When it does, appreciate it.

Sometimes two decent people sit down, tell the truth, own their part, forgive each other, and save something worth saving.

Fight for those relationships.

But sometimes?

There is no final conversation.

No missing piece.

No beautifully wrapped explanation waiting behind the curtain.

Just two people carrying completely different versions of the same history.

That used to bother the hell out of me.

I thought moving forward required understanding everything behind me.

It doesn’t.

You can leave a question unanswered without letting it become your address.

You can forgive someone who never understood why forgiveness was necessary.

You can remember the good without rewriting the bad.

You can miss somebody and still know they no longer belong in your life.

And you can admit your own part without volunteering to carry theirs.

That isn’t bitterness.

That’s accounting.

Faith taught me something uncomfortable about this:

Sometimes you don’t get the explanation.

You get enough light for the next step.

Apparently God is less interested in giving me the director’s commentary than I am.

Annoying.

But fair.

So if the apology comes, listen.

If reconciliation is honest and possible, don’t let pride kill it.

If you owe the apology, make the damn call.

But if you’ve spent years waiting for somebody else to hand you permission to move forward—

maybe permission was never theirs to give.

SOME DOORS DON’T CLOSE.

YOU JUST STOP GOING BACK.

SAINT DIRTY FACE™
Imperfect on Purpose. Faithful with Fangs.