They were a monster I created. An army of angry woman armed with flaming balls full of the fury that I lacked the courage to feel or express. I could not blame them for their hate. I had stoked it, fed it, fueled it. A gift given to myself. The emotions I had shoved down deep, finally free and reflected back to me in their dismay.
And now I was asking them to forget all that. To move beyond the stories I had told. Not to deny that they had ever happened, or to question their truth, but to bury the emotional impact, and separate the stories from the man at the root of them. Because I wanted to love him again. But how could I ask them to do the same. They were a monster I had created. They had heard the stories I had told. And they were unwilling to forget.