Dear World,

On this pristine page…

I’m sorry words that weren’t mine rushed from these lips and shoved past the dam I held so tightly

I’m sorry I don’t speak with the ferocity of you to others, that there isn’t a cell in my body that can be commanding

I’m sorry for apologizing now because you told me not to but I have to because I feel like I should

I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted to be, wasn’t what you drew of me in your journal, and hoped to see

I’m sorry I disappoint you, that the favorite cannot be the golden one, a title reserved for another who’s temperament can be unsettling

I’m sorry there’s an illustration of words that I can’t get out of my head about you that I want to forget but hope is true I’m sorry I’ve contemplated us when I should accept the reality as it is

I’m sorry I know I said I wouldn’t say them and yet I’ve laid them out, cards on the table for you to draw from to read me a future, to read me some certainty among my unrest.

dear world, I’m sorry’s aren’t meant for the ones who cannot speak their meaning cannot fathom the meaning cannot return their meaning; dear world I’m sorry is only as functional as its owner.


part 1.

Like what you read? Give Sara Weaver a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.