Regret is the glue that makes grief stick around for a lifetime.
regret
A January day that lives forever
In my mind —
I’ve tried a million
times to go back
to that day —
tried to change
my choices
begged a do-over
from the universe
I’ve crippled myself with
guilt
sorrow
thrashing the quicksand
sinking in
layers of grief
fighting a sticky web
trapped in
regret-regret-regret
I don’t even care about
my own
broken heart
I’m sorry
I broke yours
Ruminate
Regrets —
those ghosts
of action
that haunt
our thoughts
End of life
no matter which end-of-life decisions were made,
there are always regrets, there is always that guilt —
live parts of me holding onto memories of a dying you
dead parts of me holding onto living memories of you
Truly lost
All these years
I thought ‘barren’
meant of the womb —
but now my body
has threatened me
with menopause
and I realize it
means of the heart.
In effect
guilt, grief, regret
cut deeper than
the dimensions
of the soul itself
Vanished
i hurt every day remembering
that i wasn’t there for you
the hardest day of suffering
— i left you painfully alone
when you needed me most
so damn close, but not there
which is the farthest away —
i was a fool, oblivious numbskull
a frozen hearted ragdoll zombie
i am sorry.
The life of every man
“The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to
—J. M. Barrie, The Little Minister, 1891