I've written this letter too many times
in my head on the back of napkins
Starbucks' receipts journal pages
I stopped addressing them
because who else would they be for?

They all start with I'm sorry
because I want you to know that I am
but they trail off into explanations
rationalizing what I did
to somehow be your fault
and instead of mine, as if
I was some damsel and you were some
mustache-twirling villain.

Once again, I'm sorry.

I was less and you more naive than I pretended.
I wasn't helpless I was selfish
I just want you to understand that it was never
your fault; it wasn't even mine.

We played our cards, but I've seen enough movies
to know that the house always wins.
I missed the opportunity to leave while I was ahead
so I got out before I could lose anymore
hoping you wouldn't notice.

I want answers
(do you know what happened?
could you tell how gone I was?
did you think it was you?
what would you have done?
what if?)
but I don't deserve them.

Good night, darling.

I'm sorry that I stopped saying
I love you.

Know that it was not because
I no longer meant it but instead because
I did.