Honest Was the Question

The List The list rests in the fire, untouched by flames. Names crossed out

in deliberate strokes. Not forgiven. Not forgotten. Collected. When I find my name,

my heartbeat steadies instead of racing. That’s how I know this is real. Fear would’ve been

easier. But this feels like recognition. Like finally being seen without the

costume. Naughty or nice was never the question. Honest was.