they come easier
when the rain
washes away
tears, all becomes
so much clearer
when answers
become questions
and time becomes
finite
when hurt becomes
just a fickle memory
just a trickle of shivers
that run down
a spine
distance remembers
that unjust thoughts
are a simple art
that carry their own
magic
we danced
on razors blades
in the end
forgetting
the softness
of the feathers
where we bedded
at the start
but what is
tragic?
is that I never
apologised
Not for my
words,or
my actions
or,
for why I thought
you would
care?
I want to apologise
that I occupied
the same space
as you
and you never
really knew
I was there

*i am so sorry