I’m sorry I have chapped lips. It’s cold out, and they’re from kissing you, at a time when you still wanted to be kissed. It was a long time ago, but know your memory is still missed.

And my crooked smile is not of my own design, but of genetic disrepair and a household too poor to fix such trivial tasks in life. I always thought it was “cute,” or so said you. Plus I always thought it made yours shine.

The sense of not being listened to is a lie, I want you to know. Some form of undiagnosed ADD where I look away when you talk and write stories in my head as I hear every word is what I feel. But I heard it all, every single syllable. And I could recite them all.

I’m sorry my stories are so extravagant, because I’ve always been one for the additives of fiction. Since day one my heart has told me to add more, and sometimes I can’t help but look for the deeper metaphor, even when it’s not there. But I’d stop looking, I swear.

I’m sorry I’m seen as controlling, but my friends all look towards me and thats a hard role to displace when it’s become your everyday life. All I needed was a little more time. And some patience, on your line.

I'm sorry I'm cold at times, with the things I say and the way I seem. It's not always easy being mean.

And I’m sorry I’m so driven to become more than what I’m from, and my dreams lie far beyond the mountains and the clouds above. I can’t help but dream, with the mind I’ve been given and the things I see.

But most of all, I’m sorry none of this was enough for you and me. I'm sorry I couldn't live your dream. I'd be your prince charming if I could have been.