Regrets

I whisper “I'm so sorry.” Then I remember that grammar rule – “I'm sorry,” I repeat. And your head drops and you say, “It's okay.” You look up and I see from your eyes that it's not okay. I feel terrible – the kind of thing that gnaws at your soul. It's that falling feeling that wakes us from dreams. I say, a little louder, “I'm sorry.” Still not there. I reflect. I am one girl and you are one boy – we are in a sea of millions of us, with different names and different highways carved into their hearts. We seem meaningless when viewed that way but we both carry scars from my sins. I think of Rod KcKuen, What words would he use? I'm sure it would be something clever that might rhyme. Something like “I loved you for a moment, for a moment was only a penny and I had no more money to my name.” I want to step back and scream, scream for an hour, or a day, a week, or perhaps a month. I need you to feel my desperation and make you know that my apology isn't one out of kindness, I said that one years ago. It's for my soul's survival. I want to scream so something else out there will hear me and understand this need to purge and give my soul relief. You smile briefly and my heart leaps thinking you understand and then that smile changes and I notice a tear drop. Just one. “I am sorry, you know.” I'm calm now. I need you to listen. I wanted to return you in the same condition I found you in. You were young and had enough hope for all of us. You smiled a lot and I would ask, “What's making you so happy?” And you'd point to my heart. That was all we needed. I wanted to give you the world and I do still now, decades later. But I did the thing I am best at – my amazing disappearing trick. I took myself from you before I became a big disappointment yet to one more person. I wish I knew what you saw in me – maybe I would sleep easier. Maybe I could remember then and I would know who I am now. Have I paid back the karma? No. Because if I had, my heart would surely know – and my soul which has been tethered would be released and I could fly. You don't have enough space in your heart for all of my apologies. So I hold them all, scooped up from a worn wooden floor hoping the day will come when I can just let them go. The day that I can open a door and throw them so far away that they can't hurt me anymore. It's not today – I pray that it will be tomorrow.