In which I forgive him and the world keeps spinning

I am told he is sorry for yelling
First in time alone, then in trips to get frozen yogurt and movie tickets, and finally in whispered words
I forgive him and the world keeps spinning
I am told he is sorry for kicking the drywall and splintering the drywall and leaving a hole where more drywall should be
He patches up the tear with glue and flowers and spackle and a forehead kiss
I forgive him and the world keeps spinning
I am told he is sorry for grabbing my arm and leaving five purple bruises
I am told in tears on our dusty, drywall-covered floorboards and four star dinners at resturaunts neither of us can afford
I consider throwing my soup in his face, cursing his name, running to the police and pointing to the damage
But the world seems to slow, my salad fork drifts lightly off the table, I can hear my mother calling my name
So I forgive him and the world keeps spinning
And then I am told he is sorry for hitting and lying and berating and scaring 
And I don't forgive him
And the world stops