i’m sorry.

i’m sorry that i have to always leave this hole in my heart empty.

i’m sorry that i have to, everyday, make sure this hole has nothing in it

—afraid to fill something else in:

something else that might not fit the same way you did before.

i’m sorry for the sound it makes:

how it creates screams that resonates up until the very tip of my fingers,

how the void echoes deep constant hums that imitates the way my heart beats,

how it just beckons me to fill it in, knowing it’ll just turn that something to nothing.

i’m sorry for ever feeling this way again.

i’m sorry for telling myself i’ve filled it already when it’s obvious

i didn’t.

it’s still the same hole — in fact, it’s bigger than ever.

maybe

day by day it gets larger, i don’t know.

but it just feels like it’s eating away what’s left of my heart.

i’m sorry.

i know i’m not supposed to feel this

but i already am.