I’m sorry.
For all the times when we cried together.
When my tears
brought back the awful memories of horrors past.

I’m sorry.
For the things I say that make you want to give up.
For when I tell you that I hate you,
and you aren’t sure if I mean it.

I’m sorry for the price you pay
when you think about those fifteen years that you lost,
and how broken we are now.

But most of all?

I’m sorry that I create the setting for all of those feeling to be felt.
You tell me that you think of the life you had together everyday.
You’d “bet your life on it” that he does too.
I’m sorry that my stories, words, and tears paint
the pictures that evoke the strongest memories of sadness and grief in you.

So I’m sorry.
For all the times that you had to hold me while I cried.
And I’m sorry for the times when I screamed at you.

But I am not sorry that I got to share those moments with you.
That you got to see and hear and feel my pain.

So I’m sorry that I painted those pictures,
and that you have to be reminded of those fifteen years with
every waking breath you take.

But I am not sorry that I got to share those moments with you.