I won't live up to expectations
and I--I am not sorry for this.
I am not sorry for being myself
or searching for something positive.
I am not sorry for my unsatisfaction,
or that I have needs beyond which is
attainable. Or realistic.
Though if that affects you, then I suppose,
I apologize for my inefficiency.
I'm sorry to inconvenience you,
although there was a time when my day
included nothing of myself but of you.
I'm not saying I regret that--no,
nor do I wish for any compensation.
I loved you.
I still do.
But I used to be satisfied with trying to fix you--
and now--now I've realized that I cannot
fix someone who was not broken by my hand.
And that I have no power to shape you
into becoming someone that I desire.
We're not the people I was hoping for.
That's alright--we're still fine.
We are perfect. Just not for each other.
I accept that graciously.
A goodness reached my life yesterday--
fought its way in, somehow.
Initially, my body revolted--
took up defenses as though it were
a deadly poison or disease.
Obviously, this was not the case.
But now, when it's gone
what will life be like without?
Now that I know what it's like
in the presence of a kind of peace?
This is why I don't make promises.
Nevermind, I'll find
someone like you.
It's not a thought--it's a fact.
That is so simple to say, my dear,
but somehow I could make it sound
poetic. A monumental moment in literature.
Or not. It all depends
on words and rhymes and riddles and
basically, how bored I am.
There's nothing to do
but talk to you.
I'm never really important.
Sadness often seeps into words
on paper, in ink--emotions poured out.
When the mind and heart is overfilled
and one decides to expose his soul.
He exposed his soul,
then he sold his sadness.
He sold his sadness.
No, I won't do that. I'll never do that.
It's cheating. It's filthy.
I will strive to let my words remain real.
Something bad doesn't always
have to turn into something good.
Sometimes the goodness is the revolting part--
it's the part that needs escaping from.
Sometimes goodness can break a heart.
Sometimes, I think
it would have been better
if we had never met at all.