You ask me what I’m sorry for as I sob and hide my face.

I’m sure in your eyes there’s no transgression.

But I learned long ago to apologize for my emotions and it’s a hard habit to break.

I’m sorry for being vulnerable.


In pain.

For not better maintaining a shiny exterior of fun and perfection.

Sorry that I can’t control this.

Sorry that I’ve let you see me this way.

Sorry that I feel the need to use apologies as buffers

As a safeguard

As a way to abolish the guilt that follows me around like a shadow.

And I’m sorry even for this apology

Which begs you to stay when you had no intention of leaving in the first place.

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