The do-over

I like getting a do-over,

a second bite of the apple,

another go,

and it means you can look at what went wrong last time.

But sometimes,

sometimes,

there are things that are so ingrained that you do them again.

I hoover every other day or so, but every time I mean to move that one chair, and every time I don’t.

I go around it.

Next time, I think.

With my fella I sometimes wait for the barb.

He never would but I wait,

sitting on the sofa and holding my breath,

and it never happens,

because in this do-over,

relationship,

love,

there is no pain.

So, I get it when it happens to him,

when he reacts as if I am not the one he is married to,

because I do it to.

Muscle memory,

remembering,

toxic thoughts,

but it still hurts.

It stings.

But without the do-over we wouldn’t be,

and this is the best,

happiest,

most loved,

wonderful,

time of my life.

So, I apologise,

sorry,

so sorry,

for the stings,

hurts,

accidental pain,

that I give him as I forgive those he gives me.