The Girl Who Cried Sorry

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Everyone knows the story about the boy who cried wolf. How the boy cried for wolf so many times, that when the wolf actually came no one believed him and the wolf ate him. In a way that little boy and I are in the same league. We keep acting like broken records, until people can’t recognize the truth when they hear it.

The difference between me and the boy is that the boy cried wolf, I cried sorry. Unlike, the boy I meant every sorry I cried, but the question is: how many times can you say something before it becomes redundant?
For some people they can do terrible things, say they’re sorry, and never mean it. They may even never feel guilty. For me, every sorry I say doesn’t stop with those five letters; many times they come with embarrassment, shame, guilt, and other things that can’t be identified, just painfully felt.
In the best of times when something breaks my mom doesn’t reprimand me harshly, she’d just clean it up and say something among the lines of,
“Well, at least it brings good luck,” and forget about it.
In the worst of times, I could be so scatterbrained to hear something my parent said, and never actually listen until it was too late.
To ask for one simple thing in exchange for all the other things they’ve done for you is not so much to ask. When they ask you to listen and you forget to, they feel it. And when they feel it, you feel it too.
Logically I can’t be defined as a bad person. I’m a good student, I take care of my responsibilities, I don’t do drugs or smoke, and I love being with my family. But then again if you read my Definitions article, people, including myself can’t be defined by just a handful of things in their life. When I disappoint my family I feel like the biggest brat in the world.
When this kind of event happens you feel defenseless and weak. You realize you can’t say sorry forever. Sometimes I get scared of the time when something truly terrible will happen because then I won’t be able to say or do anything to make it right. I will be eaten by the wolf of my own destruction.
But you keep saying sorry because you hope it’ll say all that you want to say: that you didn’t mean to do it on purpose, that you really love the person to whom you’re saying sorry to, and that you truly are sorry.





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