Ever so often do I slightly dwell.
No matter my tries, attempting to quell,
no matter the present, the past
you can tell, is written, engraved,
I misbehaved.

I mistook my fright for inconvenience,
aware of the scary's worthiness of lenience.
I spoke in excess of affection and love.
Yet was too weak to express when push came to shove.

I regret causing harm, though I never met her,
believe she has grown, is stronger somehow.
She knows like I do, she deserved someone better,
or at least someone longer, who'll never regret her.

I hope you forgive me, consider me a friend
and in that act allow my dwelling to end.