A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I live in absolute certainty of your good opinion,
the safety of your love is a mug of hot chocolate
by a fire, with a book and a blanket. 
Peace. I have no doubts
that hurting me would never be intentional,
and honestly, I would not even say you did
hurt me, more that you frustrated me, and I know 
you are sorry, and that’s not just a word that’s said when socially appropriate. 
It’s a genuine expression of sorrow 
that any action or inaction on your part
might cause any less than positive emotions in me. 
I accept your apology, and:
thank you. 
Thank you for being real, sincerely well-meaning. 
Thank you for being so quick to reflect,
so authentic in your apology. 
Coffee and crisp morning breeze bring clarity
to thoughts and feelings. I know we would prefer
a friendship in which neither of us ever missteps,
but may I admit to evidence the silver lining:
my healing soul needs to witness that when mistakes happen,
an apology may be heartfelt, earnest, 
intended to restore and reconcile rather 
than discount, dismiss, disregard. 
This is the love I sought: patient, kind, 
not envious or boastful or rude,
and this is the love that allows me to give back the same:
my love is not irritable nor resentful. 
This friendship rejoices in truth, hopes all things and endures all things, 
and one more wound heals over.