I'm Sorry.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you came over that first night.
I’m sorry I cooked for you and let you sleep in my bed.
I’m sorry you kissed me in a dark garden on my green campus.
And I’m sorry I held your hand like you were mine.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the text messages and phone calls and for kissing your ass.
I’m sorry I tried to make you smile and in turn, let you take down my walls.
I’m sorry I wrote for you, to you, about you.
And I’m sorry I ever tried to fill your holes.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry she broke your heart and I’m sorry I let you break mine.
I’m sorry I confused sickness with arrogance and I’m sorry I ever excused your ego.
I’m sorry I slept in your bed, hugged your mother, and pet your dogs.
I’m sorry I drove in the rain for an hour to sleep in your arms.
I’m so fucking sorry.
I’m sorry I let you let me laugh.
I’m sorry we slow danced and I’m sorry I thought you were a man.
I’m sorry I gave you a chance when I should of known better than to like a boy in a band.
I’m sorry you can’t say we were dating, and damn, I’m glad we never did.
I’m so so sorry.
I’m sorry I let you call me baby, or even kiddo, in your condescending way.
I’m sorry you bought me drinks, or that I even expected you to act like a gentleman.
I’m sorry we played house, I’m sorry you loved my dog, and I’m sorry I thought you were my best friend.
I’m sorry your friends told you what a good woman I am, and how it will hurt I ever leave.
But baby, I’m not sorry I’m leaving.
No, I’m not sorry, I’m gone.