Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise from outward things, what e’er you may believe. There is an inmost center in us all, Where truth abides in fullness . . . and to know, Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany,but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
