I told her a while ago, "If you knew what I knew about me,
you'd hate me."
Well, maybe not hate. You wouldn't approve
because most people talk about ****** things
with lust in their eyes
or if they had a negative experience, they were *****
but for me, it's different, because
what I did
was built on a sandy platform of lies.
"I love you,"
"You're the only one I ever want to be with,"
She must have seen through it. She must have known.
She seemed so broken that night.
It was like everything she had hoped for
was there, and yet it wasn't really,
because it wasn't like she expected.
And months later, when I finally couldn't hold back my
mis-directed guilt, I glided past so-and-so's number
and called her up
and left her fourteen voicemails in a row, to apologize.
I cried on the phone and I'm glad she didn't pick up.
If I became Mother Theresa,
and saved the lives of millions of children,
or gave my life serving,
or made a billion peoples' day every day,
I couldn't repay for the pain I caused her.
I have dedicated my life to Christ,
because of that one girl that I broke, offered her a chance
at her first crush and it was a false chance,
so I will pay every day and be a sun, see if
I can change things around for you, and you, and you
and make sure I never do any more harm.
I will strive and serve and become someone who could not,
("no, not her, she couldn't have!")
have hurt someone like I hurt her that night.
Last year at camp, the pained looks she gave me when I told
that fireside story, or when I sang to the guitar, or when I hung out
with my friends, couldn't possibly have hurt more.
And I can't even grasp how seeing me there hurt her.
No matter what I do,
It will never be enough.