It’s just the hurt talking

I’m sorry. I know, it’s all I seem to say— words tumbling out, rushing to escape before anger catches them. It’s the things I thought I’d left behind, sharp edges thrown where they don’t belong. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make every moment heavy with memories I don’t want. The truth is, I’m tired of the fight in me, of apologizing to anyone who brushes against these bruises. So I say it again, a little softer each time, as if that might fix it— I’m sorry, it’s just the hurt talking. But someday, I hope I’ll have something else to say.