Making It Up To You

I'll spend years making it up to you. Each passing day I will pray a little longer and hope a little more. I can wipe my sadness off my arm and hold it in a bag by the door -- if you'd agree to just pick it up and drop it off at the cleaners. Then I know for sure it's over and we're just beginning to get to the end of whatever the hell happened and whatever the hell we'd been. I can press my face up against the glass and hit the window with my fists and be part of you again. Just to feel anything 'cuz nothing would take away this empty void I have lurking inside the broken part of me. I would ask again for help and please beg you to just wait. Wait for the time I'm ready and strong with everything brushing past me and all my leaves gone. Wait 'til I'm just alone and scared like a child and breathing shallow like a fish out of water causing you to see my pain. It's written all over my neck and my back, down to my middle toe on the left foot. I just wanted you to know that I never said no. I never said I was telling the truth. I never said I was sorry, and that's something I'd never do. Each day was a lesson and each lesson was learned. Sometimes it doesn't hurt as much to let myself feel the burn. We're not able to spend this time reflecting. I'll spend years making it up to you.