Apology For My Source Of Air
I want to apologize for every time that I held your hand as a source of air rather than a source of affection.
As if the spaces between your fingers offer eternity while the lingering idea of oblivion consumed the rest of my body.
My mind, my thoughts, my words, my breath, my consciousness, my sense of humanity were never enough to shake your soul, or rattle your foundation.
But the touch of my hand, the fire in my eyes, the subtle gesture of longing in my actions...
That was enough to send chills spiralling up every ladder of DNA that composed the libretto of your entire being.
I offered you the mysteries of the universe I had discovered in payment for all the time you spent willingly on me.
That appears now to be nothing more than fragmented hours of deterioration.
I thought sharing the music of my soul would be enough to reawaken the orchestra in yours. I'm sorry.
I thought giving you every opportunity to make the right choice would help you choose the right one. I'm sorry.
I thought giving you freedom would make you crave security. I'm sorry.
I thought telling you the truth would encourage you to do the same. I'm sorry.
And clearly, I am sorry for several things
But mostly your carelessness.