Do not tell me you are sorry when I clear my throat and it annoys you. Your correction does not signify an understanding of my discomfort.
Do not tell me you are sorry when you want to listen to music on a morning drive, because it's truly what you wish to hear. Your ears are dedicated to what they want and do not have a respect for my desire for zen.
Do not tell me you are sorry for wanting light when my eyes need the dark. Your brain wishes to see in shades of yellow and red without care that my eyes crave hues of ebony and stone.
Do not tell me you are sorry for raising your voice as your heart can only hear in volumes of pain, without care that my soul can hear your whisper of desperation.
Do not waste three such precious words....."I AM SORRY". I beg you to save them for when you break my heart, for you will, and it is then you will need them..........for your survival.
Chilling at Comic Con
About Me
- Hankbug
- Muskegon, Michigan, United States
- I used to have a full time job, in a big city, until I got sidelined by an autoimmune disease. Now, I am a full time patient, a fighter, a sort of green beret of medical experiments searching for a cure.
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