Sorry, Not Sorry

         He wasn’t sorry, sorry for the things that he said; said out of pain.  Nor was he sorry for the things he said out of love.  He was only human, an imperfect creature of perfection.  He never claimed to know how anyone felt, he only knew how he felt.  He only expressed what was inside.  Releasing it.  Not keeping it bottled up. Sometimes it’s hard to put yourself in another person’s shoes, try to imagine what’s going on inside their heads, inside their hearts.  Even if we try, we will never really know.

         Life has a funny little way of playing itself out.  It truly is a magic trick.  Look over there so you don’t see what I’m doing over here, and then, abracadabra!  He knew the Universe was giving him what he wanted, making room for what was to come.  But knowing didn’t make it any easier.  It was still a process.  There’s still that space between.

         He has a huge heart, filled full of love, love for everyone, love for the world.  He does his best to give it freely.  He does his best to be selfless, to put others before him.  And so, when he doesn’t, it doesn’t mean that he’s not the person we imagined, that he’s not caring, not kind.  It means there’s something more going on.  More than just pain.  More than just heartache.  No one knows, but him.

         His intentions are NOT to hurt anyone.  His intentions are to express himself, to release his heart, to give his soul to the world.  To be naked, to be vulnerable.  To be scared while doing it but having the courage to do it anyway.  It’s the only thing that will save him.

         He’s only felt love, real love, from two people.  He’s been alone since he was twenty-one, no one to guide him, no one to show him the way.  He wakes up every day and tries his best.  Some days he’s amazing, but most days he’s not.  BUT he NEVER…stops…trying.  He never stops giving, never stops loving, even when it’s hard.

         He wants to believe there is greatness in him, that he has something special to give the world, but it’s hard to see that when everything in his life is so fucked up.  He knows that greatness lies within us all, that EVERYONE has something special to give, so why not him?  Is this life some cruel joke?  Is he not deserving?

         When he thinks back on his life, on the things that he’s done, on the things that he’s said; he’s not sorry about any of it.  What he is sorry about is EVERYTHING he DIDN’T do; ALL the things he never SAID.  Those moments are gone.  They’re ghosts hiding about in his head, haunting his heart, coming out when he least expects it; when he sees a beautiful sunset, when it’s storming outside, when he hugs his daughters.  Always there, always haunting, no matter how hard he tries to ignore them.

         Sorry, not sorry.

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