i'm sorry,
that i didn't notice,
even though i did,
and that there are
so many pills
and knives
and sadness
and that i never told you
that you were perfect enough
and that i can't give you
anything
not even flowers
and that when you'd reach out
i never took your hand
or held you
because i was too ignorant
too stubborn
and part of me still is,
hoping you'll reply to me
i can't bring myself to
accept that you won't
even though
it's been a year
maybe more
and in the end
i can't even write you a poem
and it's too late anyway
because apologies
don't bring back the dead.
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