It's Too Late To Apologize

If the shoe fits...

It started slow, then built up to something really nice. It didn't take too long. A castle made of Trust.

But I stayed at that pace, and you wanted more, bigger, faster. Your expectations were enormous, and I really wanted to fulfill them, and if I'd tried harder, I probably could've, but I got cocky.

I basked in the glory of ''Public Me'' and let him come into our home, or whatever it was that we had, and I thought there was no problem big enough that Love couldn't take care of, that Trust couldn't cast aside, and I thought you'd feel the same way. For a long time.

And it was a long time, really. You were patient, you were vocal enough. I just thought I could have it All, whenever I wanted it. But you had your own version of time as well, and sometimes our times didn't match.

It could have ended then and there, peacefully, and I'd be here apologizing. Not to make it better, not so you'd come back - more to let you know: I understand.

And it would have been nice. Memories are meant to be remembered, to be a place to go back to and reminisce about and to want to revisit.



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But for girls, I guess, when shit goes South, you just can't let it go. You blame yourselves and try to find a way to blame others, to not have to bear the weight of The End on your own, not understanding that The End can be nice, good, mutual, respectful; Trust and Common Sense and Intelligence makes way to Illusions and Deception, and that's when you cross the line, open emails, open mail, stalk, sift through personal files...

And you're just more pissed off when you don't find anything substantial, or anything more than circumstantial. But it's Too Late, because now you've crossed a line I can never forgive.

It wasn't your fault to begin with, it was circumstance, happenstance, lack of chance... but now it is, and there's no going back.

I almost want to not say I'm sorry for playing it too cool, for not being showy enough, for not spending every waking minute with you if you so desired, for a lack of consistency in the frequency of the display of affection. I almost want to tell you off instead, call you names, and shut the door on you forever.

But that's not who I am.