If I'm not listening to music, I feel like my heart won't beat. Not now, at least. There's too much muddling the signal - I'm afraid the organ will fail. Forgiveness hurts because to do it, to do it well, you have to unplug the stereo, hope you'll survive without the aid of another rhythm.
Forgiveness is not addition, it's removal. You take that shaking thing out of your chest, that heaving pile of hurt, and you leave it out on the cutting block. You can have this. You might cut me again and again, but I can't hold on to this any more. Forgiveness hurts because some will relish in the opportunity to cut you every time you sew the wound.
If I'm not rushing around with my hands full, I feel like I'll drop everything. It's too much to carry, but I try anyway. Targets hold still, so I run. Forgiveness hurts, because if I'm not running, I can't breathe.
I do stop, place hands upon the counter, and unplug the music from time to time. I wonder when good will win. Pause to consider how long it will take for the bad to be called to account. Set off again, knowing the Lord hates pride and loves to break it; he'd probably call my account first. Forgiveness hurts, because the boundaryless refuse to give it (but oh, how they take it for themselves).
Forgiveness hurts, because it isn't justice.
photo source: unknown. Found on pinterest.