Regret is being locked in a room with mirrors plastered on every possible stretch of wall. Everywhere you turn you can see yourself in all your glory. You see the dirt underneath your nails from each passing night. You see the redness of your skin from where you had obsessively scrubbed clean. You see the blisters on your fingers from desperately clutching onto the burden you constantly bear. But what you don't understand is that- yes, regret is being locked in a room, but you are the one holding the key.