It happens more frequently than I
would like to admit, and it never goes
away. Forgetting a line in rehearsal.
Not remembering someone's name.
Interrupting someone when they're
having a conversation. Taking  the
last Oreo in the package. Refusing
to eat my mother's cooking. That

one time I called Tom a d*** in 6th
grade even though we weren't friends.
To most, guilt can be washed out with
apologies or favors, but it's bitter bite
lingers in my mouth seemingly forever.
It forces my lips and throat to form "I'm
sorry"s and "forgive me"s and "please

don't hate me"s until they do just
from my excess need to feel safe.
I dream constantly of how I could
have said "I love you" differently so
she could've truly understood what
I felt. How someone probably really
wanted that last Oreo. Or how hard
my mother must've worked just to

have me tell her my empty stomach
was full. Or how their name isn't that
hard to remember, they've been in
your class all year you goddamn moron.
Every misstep replays behind my eyes
like a trainwreck on the news. I can't
stop watching, every moment punching
the breath from my lungs. Guilt and

anxiety aren't the partying kids next
door, they're the young couple making
love in the neighboring apartment, their
moans and pounding against walls
keeping me awake and preventing me
from thinking straight. I want nothing more
than to be freed from this loop, but this

mind and its carefree neighbors have other
plans. They are at peace. They are living in
blissful, loving limbo, and I'm left here,
listening and dreaming of what it must be like.