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From me: To you

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"I'm sorry" I write, the sound of my pen scratching the surface of paper sounding extremely loud in the still midnight air "I'm sorry that I couldn't make you smile. I'm sorry that I cared too much, freaked you out. But most of all, I'm sorry I made you feel worse rather than feeling better"

I pause for a moment, the scratching of my pen ceasing momentarily as I think of what I want to say next, and of the best way to say it. There would be no more trickery, no more sugar coating, no more holding myself back.

"I'm sorry I don't have a silver tongue or the perfect words. I'm sorry I don't have a perfect smile and a flawless face, the kind that would make you swoon and smile,that would make you forget about all your problems." I pen all this down, the words flowing rapidly as if I had just burst open a long dormant dam. “Because that seems to be how you deal with bad things, trying to forget about them and I wish that I could help you forget" Again my hand pauses, unsure if I should really have my emotions poured onto a bit of paper.
Taking a deep breath, I grip my pen tightly and begin scrawling more and more words, the essence of my emotions imprinting themselves onto the white paper with a bold, striking black

"I'm sorry for all my mistakes, for all the hints I missed and for all the pain you think I caused. I'm sorry I asked what's wrong when you just wanted to forget, and I'm sorry for all the times I pushed when I should've yielded" At the end of that, I put my pen back down. Was that all? Is that all of myself that I was willing to divulge, even to myself?
Because deep down inside, I knew there was more, a treasure chest I hadn't opened yet, but was almost in reach. This was an apology for all the things I couldn't do, so I might as well forge on. Maybe, if I wrote on and on, I'd have enough time to gather the courage to say tell them this.

At the thought I gave a bit of a snort. My hopeful, wishful thinking. My useless wishful thinking. Their face popped into my mind, their cute smile, the real one full of joy and happiness. Their caring tenderness and their commitment to those they cared about. As I think about everything that made them perfect, everything that made me care about them, I am again crushed by how badly I failed.

As I picture their smile, I remember how I made them cry. But I force my hand to move, to keep on writing because I knew that I had to finish, to complete my first true apology to the person I truly cared about. I drag the pen downwards, starting yet another I.
"I'm sorry" I write as tears begin to well in my eyes "I'm sorry that I care about you more than you want me too, and I'm sorry so much of me p*sses you off. I just need you to know that I would do anything to make you happy, no matter how unreasonable. I'm sorry if that makes me sound creepy and fake, but I really do care about you. I'll do anything for you and I don't expect anything back"

I pause, sigh, and continue "I'm sorry if you don't want that, sorry if it makes me seem creepy and obsessed, but I just want to make everything alright. Maybe I'm just really bad at it."
Again I stop. This is it. The final The End. "And I'm sorry, that I love you but I won't have the courage to tell you before it's too late"


I lift my pen, not dotting the last period. Because I know that it's not over, and it'll never be over. But nevertheless I put my pen down, and jam on the cap.

My eyelids start to droop, so I turn off my lamp and pick up the paper and hold it over the trash bin beside my desk and rummage through my drawer for a lighter. I flick the spark wheel with my thumb, and a small flame emerges, throwing flickering shadows across the walls. I hold the flame to my paper and watch as the fire catches, dancing under the words that I had wrote with my emotions, consuming them and leaving only ashes that fell into the trash. I extinguish the lighter as the fire burned slowly but hungrily, nibbling away at my words, my apologies, my declarations of my love and failures. More and more of my paper became consumed, leaving only black cinders behind, until finally only the little corner I was holding onto was left, with a single word on it.

I take a deep breath and blew out the licking tongue of fire, plunging the room into darkness. I kneel and clutch the remnants of my paper, because I now know I want nothing more than to hold them in my arms and give everything I have just to see a real smile on their face and again I utter "I'm sorry"



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