I know I disappointed you. I felt it long before you ever said it. No matter how hard I reached, I never seemed to land where you needed me. I say sorry too often. Not because it’s easy, but because I was raised to believe every crack in the room traced back to me. Somewhere early on, my mind wrote a law it still obeys: if something breaks, I must have broken it. That voice never retired. It walks into every relationship ahead of me. It sits between words during every argument. It fills the quiet with accusations. So I apologize even when I can’t find my crime. Even when the weight was never mine. Because I am terrified one wrong breath will convince you to leave. You were the closest thing I had to calm, and somehow I turned into static in your life. A complication. A burden I never meant to become. The cruel truth is I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to survive. Trying to keep my hands wrapped around something I loved so I wouldn’t watch it disappear too. I tried with the tools I had, but effort without guidance can cut like glass. I needed help. I needed someone to show me another way to stand. Instead I grew into the chaos I was warned I’d always be. And knowing I won't ever have the person I called home is a weight I will carry quietly, long after the apologies run out of air. ~ still waiting...Thea Hart ~