This is overdue.

This is an apology letter I owe to a someone who had her heartbreak ripped out from her

before the paint even dried.

It's my fault and I owe this to her.

That's not why I'm writing it,

but I owe this to her.

I'm sorry for the car rides that were tell-all's and the days him & I waited at train stations

and found cities we never expected to see.

I love those cities more than my own first name,

which you had a hard time saying after everything happened.

But I'm sorry the tables did a U-turn,

and I'm sorry our eyes fell apart, but I tried to keep a friendship above water

and I got shut down by you once and immediately knew I wasn't your ally anymore

and I deserved that.

It felt like we were choosing sides,

and everything about him smelled like home

and the clock was about to strike twelve

and I promise,

I promise I didn't see it coming.

I wasn't waiting on the edge of the door, ready to knock.

I wasn't even driving that direction

but the weather changed

so I changed.

But I still owe you an apology 

because it's been one month since I stopped listening to Rogue Valley

and the heartbreak still stains the furniture sometimes

and him & I took off three weeks after he turned his heart around

so I owe you an apology for that.

They were the longest three weeks of my life,

waiting

watching

listening to the glass on the floor be shuffled around

until finally it was clean enough to dance barefoot.

I never gave him credit for forcing me off my bed,

killing the depression

filling the tank when it was on empty.

And you may look at him with every sharp bone in your body,

but he was dragging me to shore during a rip tide,

so please, 

please don't be mad at him

for saving me.

Be mad at me for diving in, if you have to.

I never told anyone how bad it hurt to metaphorically break bones.

That's the only way to describe emotional pain.

And it may be too late to apologize to you,

you may hate the low eyes, the way mine don't make sense anymore.

You may hate me for diving in after him,

but he pulled me out of that water.

So I can't apologize for being saved.

And he isn't the same person you saw from that side of the car.
He isn't on the same train you left him on.
And I can't take credit for any of that,
but I found him there and that's where we chose to stay.

I'm still sorry,
but I'm still breathing.
And I can't apologize for that.