day five.

an exchange of regret. 

-

we were an amalgam of apologies. 

"i'm sorry," she told me one morning,

dawn light grey on her cheekbones,

"i'm sorry i made you carry my mistakes

around under your tongue."

"i'm sorry," i told her on the train.

my nails were painted yellow,

because i missed the sun.

"i'm sorry i left your shame

out on my laundry line. i never

meant to air your secrets."

"i'm sorry i rubbed salt on your 

wounds," she says under an 

oak tree in the park. "i thought it 

would keep them from becoming

scars."

"i'm sorry i cursed your dead mother,"

i whispered, "and put salt in your tea.

i just wanted to see if you cry anymore."

"i'm sorry, i'm just sad."

"i'm sorry, i'm just tired."

"i'm sorry, i just miss you."

"i'm sorry, i'm just too

sorry to do this anymore."

and one day, our apologies

ran out.