I'm not sorry.
I'm not sorry that your heart beats to drums of bells or whatever it is that isn't mine.
That I've grown out of the little pocket in your jeans that you put me in, thinking I was too small to get out, and that I may not be the person you want so desperately anymore.
That I have offended you by finally letting myself be me.
That the wind beats on you windows at night and makes you wish we could go back to who we used to me, entwined so wholeheartedly, loved as if we were in love.
I can't be sorry.
I'm not sorry.
I never will be.