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I’m sorry.

I started with what I’m best at: apologizing.
I’m sorry.
Perhaps in a week these words will have lost all meaning.
Perhaps it’ll take a month for me to forget.

Perhaps I’ll never forget.
It’s funny how I’m expecting to forget five months in a week or less.

Silly, silly me.

You don’t forget the first time you fall in love. Much less if you spent five months watching carefully and learning all their little things.

For example, I know your hands are always cold and are thinner but shorter than mine.
They don’t fit with mine.

You have never shot a straw wrapping to another person.

You hold up your pinky while eating or drinking and never pick at the food with bare fingers, not even when we have chicken legs for lunch at school.

You fall asleep on the way to school unless your dad is driving you, if that’s the case you always arrive with earphones and a frown.

You love your family more than anything in this world and can’t picture life without them…that’s why you feel sorry for me and my broken home. Even though I don’t mind my life as it is.

You are smart and pretty but never seem to take notice of that.
And if you do, then you do a wonderful job at hiding it.

And you don’t love me.

You don’t love me and you don’t think you can (your words, not mine).
You don’t love me and you broke me.
You can’t love me, and while I understand it pains me.
It pains me that you don’t love me like I love you.
But I understand.

You don’t love me like I do…and you never will.

(29/09/14)