I am sorry

Got this off Tumblr, credit below. I am gonna italic the ones I feel.

I’m sorry for crying all of the time.
I’m sorry that you got mad, and I tried to get mad, and instead I fell apart.
I’m sorry that it was all on you to walk away. I know I didn’t make it easy.
I am sorry that I called you a coward.
I am sorry that it is too late to tell you that I have always thought of you as being anything but.
I’m sorry for the scene in the waffle house,
and for kissing you every time you wanted to go.
You told me once that I was the one thing in the room you couldn’t take your eyes off of.
You told me once that you loved me, and that when you were sad, all you wanted was me.
I’m sorry that those things ever stopped being true.
I’m sorry that I still remember that you said them.

I’m sorry that I forgot each one of our flaws, our failings,
and the second you told me you were irreversibly gone,
I imagined a version of our history that was the stuff of the stars,
a love that made it impossible to inhale, exhale knowing that our skin would never touch again.

I know now that we never loved like this.
Oh, we loved, and there was so much happiness.
There was passion, and there was pain.
But it was the you that I could no longer have that I fell so profoundly in love with that I thought my veins would always be aching for a shared laugh or an intentional physical contact.
I inflated our best times, lost a grip on our worst.
Remember that I did this, when you wonder why I lost my mind when you left.
Remember that I was not remembering us and our lost battles,
but only the most fleeting moments.
I thought never of the fights, incompatibility, or anger.
Only of the songs, car rides, sunsets, cliche overbearing indescribable lung-clenching love that there is no word for, while forgetting that those moments were few, far between, and may have only existed for one of us.

I am sorry for how I acted.
I am sorry for inventing a you that was impossible to let go.
I am sorry that anything left you might have been keeping with you to look back on our relationship fondly with, I dismantled,
destroyed in the fire of my lost months.
I am sorry that you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into with me.
Sorry that you had to deal with the warring emotions of annoyance and guilt knowing that it wasn’t until almost a year later that I finally stopped crying about you nightly.

I want to apologize for wrecking what could have been the most beautiful thing, but then I must apologize for this; For I do not know if that potential was ever simmering in the breath between our kisses. I do not know if I wrecked something beautiful, or if I crashed a train that was already on fire, only to emerge with invented ideas about explosives in the heavens.
I am sorry that I have blurred us, but I am most sorry that my fingers have had to fight off the urge to call you lover in this poem,
Sorry that I do not write poetry anymore unless it is with your ghost.
To my old friend whom I shall never address as anything else,
I am sorry that I fell in love with a version of you that I invented.
I am sorry that I will never again know you, me, or us.
I do not know, my friend, if I am sorry about what I let waste away.

C