To me you've died. I watched your wounds expand into gaping holes the size of apples and oranges. My body shivers now at the thought. But I witnessed then the leakage that seeped, and I smelled its rot. I forgave you because how could I harbor hate after seeing you in such a state? What would that say about me? How could I curse you if you've already cursed yourself? I can't. I won't pray for you