Promises Breed Apologies

Photo by Simon Berger, Unsplash

How your beauty contains itself is a trick as nifty as maintaining a fall, though I can only imagine because the trick’s Prestige lies in my need to believe. And if not for every door around me remaining as sturdy and inconspicuous as my pain, the stories of how each used to open might hold more weight than the glory days everybody talks about but doesn’t understand. To confess would be less helpful than mixing regrets with intentions. Saying sorry is the least I could do, but would you encourage sincerity or merely wonder what it was all for and how I could band together so many promises on layaway? Together seems an impossible concept when you consider how tightly the seams of self are stitched and wound without a shelf within big enough to separate ulterior motives from compromises. You can’t digress from what never was, and I bet when I see your face again, I still won’t know what to say or even how to begin. Apologies need reasons to exist, even when the list of sorries is as long as time and just as elusive. Allow me to explain. No, forget it. An explanation won’t suffice until my promises quit passivity and match your unwavering trust in me.