Apologies.

+113

Sorry.

You did mean a lot to me.
I’m guessing you still do,
Since every time you say something,
Something unpleasant,
Something vile,
My heart shrinks…
And through that shrunken heart,
Passes a piercing shaft.
The shaft gives way to blood,
Blood, the same color,
The color of my love.
The love was deep,
It was.
Now.
It hurts.
Love hurts.
I am hurt.
You are too.
Or maybe you think this is bullshit.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I was never good enough.
Apologies.
I’m sorry.

This poem was written/submitted by Divya Mehta.

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