Young love, foolish love, love upended by reality, love remembered over time. Haven't we all known something like this? But as one grows older, one evolves and matures - as I did. I changed. I am no longer the girl I was when I was eighteen years old.

But I am a writer and the question has now arisen: Why did I choose to continue speaking to a man who once endangered my very life? People who are close to me are asking me this very question.

My answer, in part: Is compassion (not forgiveness) the sign of maturity or is holding onto rage a principled obligation?

Read more here.