I’m sorry that sometimes my fire burns under water,
that sense isn’t made,
and so far isn’t so good,
that what should add up, falls apart.

We’re trying to catch a million soapy bubbles.
No matter how gentle we go,
they pop at the touch
or float just out of reach.

I'm sorry that I feel both joy and discontent in the same moment
And both are equally true.
I’m sorry that one plus one does not always equal two.