I’m sorry that the streets are crowded and wet and that your boots don’t fit. You gave me your rain coat to wear as a badge of honor. You fill in your broken parts with pompous remarks. You act as if I’m grateful to be in your presence, to wear your coat, to listen to your voice. Maybe it’s because I don’t talk much anymore.
You, with your perfect little universe. You, with the heart you imagined was made of gold. You can’t forgive and forget only live in your own regret.