You see life works like this.
From day one you’re told to play by the rules; everybody gets one shot. One shot at trust, one shot at friendship, because the rules say that when you leave, you can’t ever come back.
But no matter how much this is stressed, we test these boundaries, and guess that everything will turn out alright.
You can’t imagine losing that one person that was always there for you, so when things turn to mush you brush it off and say you’re sorry.
We continue to change what we learn so we don’t think before we burn the ones that we love, because you’re sorry.
But it doesn’t change what you did; you can’t erase the words like they are written on a chalkboard, you can’t take your actions back like the oceans tides receding but we forget this so we hurt them anyways. Because we can say we are sorry.
You treat it all as a joke but you push it too far, it’s as if you’re driving a car and playing chicken with death.
You see, now it doesn’t matter that once they would have died for you because you didn’t abide by the rules of friendship; you hurt them, stabbed them in the back out of nowhere and now all you’re left with is that stupid bloody knife in your hand that says “look what you did”.
You keep that knife on a shelf because you’re so mad at yourself and eventually you use that bloody knife and carve their name into your heart vowing to never forget the mistakes you made.
Yet even after the storm is settled you try to pick up the pieces but they slip away too fast like trying to catch water falling from the sky of your past and those sorrys don’t seem so powerful anymore.
No matter what you do it’s never good enough because they don’t care anymore. They’re gone with the storm and now all of your laughs still echo in your head like a lost soul in the casket of what used to be.
So then you sit there feeling sorry for yourself because their smile is burned into your eyes and with every blink the pain of what you did sears up so you gear down and try to keep your head above the water that constantly pulls you below trying to consume you as a whole, even though you feel like nothing.
Even when you give up it’s never enough because as soon as you want to drown and let life get on you can’t. You relive all the darkness that spewed out of your mouth, and how you expected them to forgive you. Sorry does not give you the right to ruin their life and undermine their might, and eventually it finally sets in that you screwed up.
You know it can never be the same so you drop to the ground and try to keep your insides from falling out of the shredded mess that you made of yourself.
Maybe next time you will think when you’re on the brink of letting them leave.
Maybe next time you won’t say you’re sorry; you just won’t push them away in the first place