It’s rather peculiar.
I feel this need to apologize for all I’ve said, for my behavior.
Maybe it’s the Midwest in me, but I’m sorry I said you’re gorgeous.
It was a brazen statement blurted from my Tourette ridden heart.
I never meant to bombard you with my torrential musings, never meant to draw and quarter you with my words and your past each claiming a limb.
I’m sorry I made you imagine love as a different color and spear a ray of sun through the thunderstorm covering your mind.
Forgive my heart’s impatience and lack of functioning ears.
I will Feel free to forget what I you must to survive. I will PhotoShop conversations to silences and smiles to backs of heads. I will Kill the little bastard that kicks my your heart against my your ribs whenever I you see your my face.
Return my texts with a shotgun full of blanks.
I get it, things can’t ever be the same.