A perfect shade of heather grey, I used to say.
But with the years, I begin to think there is no harmony between black and white. Differences in intentions and moral values do not blend. The line between "I did not know this would hurt you" and "I know this will hurt you, only if you find out" is stark.
Never in my drunkest of my drunkest selves nor the angriest of my angrist selves have I chosen to hurt someone. Alcohol's influence and the heat of the moment are the easiest scapegoats, you see.
I have left the me from 9 years ago behind; the me with who embraced compromise and forgiveness. Yet ironically, I feel feather light.
