I can only imagine the ways I have disappointed you.
I say I can only imagine them because you won’t tell them to me. Our world has gone quiet, the smiles are no longer smeared across our faces. We weren’t ever really aware that they were there, as involuntary as they were.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to correct the mistakes I’ve made. Initially, in my foolish pride, I did not think I had made any. I was right as the Rain Falling Mostly On the Plain in Spain.
I know now. My mistake was thinking I hadn’t made any, and believing myself when I said it.
Will this be the regret I have, when I am old? Will I look back and think to myself that I could have been better?
I could have been better, you know. I will tell myself this over and over, for days and weeks, and months, and maybe even years. Vainly, I hope you will hear it as I speak and you will forgive me.
I will remember the moments we had together, as brief as they may have been. In the grand scheme of my life so far, our time together represents a fraction so small it cannot be considered a number.
But those few minutes, I feel as if I will remember them for a lifetime. They will forever mold and shape me, into the person I am today.
The day you first hugged me was the best of my life. It made everything in my life up until that point practically a work of fiction.
Later that night, we sat, edging closer together. We were both afraid, I think, to know what the touch of the other felt like. But we were eager as well, and our curiosity won.
For me, those minutes can never be replaced. My fear is that they will, for either me, or you.
I know that I desire a second chance. I think that you don’t want to give me one.
Where does this leave us? You will move on, and live your life.
I will continue in a monologue to seclusion.
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This, and more, at Synaptic Thought.
