I'm sorry. If I haven't been the perfect person for you, I'm sorry. For the times I have stood before you and announced, said, done stupid things: I'm sorry. I could swear I would try harder if I had to do it all over again, but I don't want to be feeding you anymore lies. You've already been stuffed full of them and now that you're free of me I'm going to bet you will wonder what you ever saw in me. You're going to begin recognizing me as only the handpicked little goody-two-shoes you never got to know before she started bossing you around, taking chances and risks without telling you, procrastinating on important things she'd promised and then giving you all sorts of various excuses so typically secure you couldn't see through them. Or maybe that arose more from her acting. She's always been able to act well; taking it off the camera, off the stage, off the big screen, is just another little project for her to take on. You don't know how much work she goes through behind the scenes to ensure she never removes her mask.
You may or my not hear this apology of mine. You're probably too busy, entangled in your petty daily complexities, to hear me when I gaze at you somedays, telling myself maybe it won't make a difference in a month's time, a year's time. The only problem with that is, I don't want it to not make a difference. I want you to remember me for everything I've done, for you and to you. Just not this way.
I'm sorry.
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