distance (part thirty-three)

There is still
this guilt
this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guilt this guiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguilthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthisguiltthis

IRREPRESSIBLE FUCKING GUILT WITH you.

I only meant to return your raven,
to never see it again--
I never meant to send a quivering arrow through its soft body.
Black feathers at my feet. (Huh.)
Its caws were too much a noise, though,
a song I did not want sung.

And now you're back(-ish).
And now I won't make a big deal.

There is no myth to which I can compare our story--yours is tragedy, mine is pathétique.
Tap not at my window; as if you had any wish for that, now.

I hurt you, because I did not love you.
There was no way around it then, there was no way around it now.

I did not love you. I could never.



But I am still so, so sorry.

-Dana Winter