There exists a version of this story, in my mind, where after remembering all of these little moments, Thomas hardens his heart, tells Patty to take her hand off of him, and builds a wall between them that probably wouldn’t be worth climbing. Some younger, less wise, version of myself, whose heart is still crying out for some kind of revenge, would write something like that. I don’t know which version of me is the most correct. I’m the version I am now. The one who wants people to think a little longer, try a little harder, and forgive people who genuinely ask for forgiveness. This fictional person has the benefit, or curse, of bein g written by current me, depending on how you see the world.

Everyone carries their trauma around their whole lives. Some people hide it. Some people wear it like a badge of honor. Some wield it like a weapon. We trade it back and forth like currency, and try to balance it out on imaginary scales against each other. Trauma writes itself into our DNA. We pass it down through generations like a cursed inheritance. I think that eventually, if we intend to fix anything, someone has to say enough. I won’t be bound for all time by things that can’t be changed and forgive transgressions that are small enough to scale. Very rarely have I found it in myself to be that person, but I’d like to be. I think.

In another decade I may find that being generous in that way is actually naive. Maybe lasting hate is the right path, but it doesn’t feel right to me now. I wish I had a better answer than vibes, but I don’t. I’m at least wise enough to know that I don’t have all the answers and that will have to be good enough for now.

Anyway, I’ll be back on Friday with more comic. Please consider supporting my work if you find value in it. Until next time, Tron lives.

3034 Is It Really All That High?

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