Wednesday, July 2, 2025

Sorry

I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry it's come to this, like this, in this pathetic way, under these sheets I want nothing more than to swallow me whole.

I'm sorry I'm not like Lee. Or Jeanne. Not like Young or Ben.

I'm just me dreaming of love and romance. I know it's old and worn out. But what can I do but keep dreaming about the only thing that ever made me feel closer to...you?

I'm sorry I don't know how to row this boat. I'm sorry I feel the need to force a smile or pretend I'm happy.

I'm sorry I can't seem to find my way out. It's a labrynth of unfathomable proportions. You know how far and wide a thought can go until it finds a place to call home.

I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry that what's here with me now is not enough. It's not enough. I'm sorry I don't know how to live, to think, to be. There must be a flaw in the design. I ask you often, "Why did you make me this way?"

In the land of forgetfulness, it must be a kind of mercy. Otherwise, even the slightest twinge of remembrance might give way to hysteria. 

The way I was wrapped in a white cloth, spinning in the air, seeing the flash of light as my picture of sadness was taken, it will all forever be imprinted on the very fabric of my being.

I can't escape this knowing in what can only be described as...futility. I don't know how to transform this, how to make it more bearable. I don't how to play in a body that's slowly wasting away. I don't know how to unsee. I don't know how to live with what I've seen. I don't know how to appreciate this moment knowing what waits for me at the other side of this second, minute, hour, day, month...countdown.

Forgive me.