Not because I've discovered any redeeming quality, any endearing sidelight, I'd earlier overlooked in you.
Not because I've realized our encounters have actually strengthened, sweetened, enlightened, or otherwise blessed my day-to-day existence.
Not because I think you're ever going to change, ever going to admit you've been a bunion.
Not for any reason except that I am tired of carrying you around.
What I wonder now is . . . does forgiving you free me to or forbid me from basing the self-righteous vegan villain of my story on you or not?