A Burned Sweater, A Lost Rose

I'm sorry for everything I ever did that hurt you, in any way. I'm sorry for spending too long thinking I was the one who was hurting more. I'm sorry that every time we got together, I screwed things up. I'm sorry for making excuses.

I'm sorry that in the beginning I was hurting, in so many ways, and projected that on to you. You were never a rebound or a convenient thing there during a difficult time. You were a blessing, well-timed. I'm sorry that I hurt you, talking about him, talking about anything that in any way made you feel less than what you meant (and mean) to me. I'm sorry that I went out almost every night for a week or 2 there and got drunk and drove around and to the ocean, instead of being here talking to you. I'm sorry I let us happen so fast, but I am never sorry that we happened.

I'm sorry that I burned your sweater. I'm sorry that I lost the rose you made me...

I'm sorry that things aren't the same, but I'm not sorry for how we currently are, because it is good. I love when we talk now, and I can't help but want to talk more and want to see you again, but distance, time, has its healing properties. I'm sorry that you suffer, and I'm sorry for really only recently allowing you to deal with it, and heal from it. I waver on whether I should or shouldn't be sorry for the way I still feel about you... the way I still think of your eyes and the way you smiled when we first saw each other, the way you came to me like you were always meant to and I was always meant to be there... the way you kept asking if I was okay, the way you made sure that I was okay. I still wonder how it would be to kiss you, or just to be close to you in any sense. I still love you. I'm not sorry to anyone else who has since tried to get close to me, I'm not sorry for letting them know that I still love you. I'm not sorry for knowing that, no matter what, nothing and no one else is you, or the feeling that I feel with you, the feeling I know is you. I am learning more and more about my self, who I am, and I've learned that I can handle solitude. But you are my one. Regardless of how you feel, or how it makes you feel... I can't help the way I feel. So, I guess I can't be sorry about that...