“Wait,” I whispered through the dark of the 12am moon, my breath warm and sweet against the constellation sky.
I looked into your eyes, hopeful and expecting.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered back, your words cold and harsh against my ballerina skin.
You couldn’t wait for me, you had too much going on.
And maybe I made mistakes,
maybe I did things I wish I had never done,
of course the girl I am now would never have done those things,
I promise.
Yet the sparkle in your eyes had already faded into the tears rolling down your freckled cheeks.
I should’ve been the one saying sorry;
to you and to myself.
You said sorry because you fell out of love.
I’m saying sorry because I never did.