To whom it may concern
Though there aren't many of you at all.
I am deeply sorry.
Not an apology at all, no.
I am a sorry sort.
One to steer clear of,
You may catch the taint of my
Sorryness.
There are ghosts around me
Of squandered opportunities,
Chances never taken,
Disappointments.
Oh, I am sorry.
I am sorry that I may never meet you,
Though I know that you exist.
I am sorry that we may never find the
Joy that the other can bring
Though I am sure that that joy would be fleeting.
I am sorry that I love you
But sorrier that you have no idea
And that I don't know who you are.
I started this poem as a way to sort of wallow in despair, but I realized halfway through that I'm not sorry for myself - I just have a lot of regrets. I hold the firm belief that out there, somewhere, is the love of my life, and the thought I may never find them saddens me greatly.
