I'm not sorry for caring, but I am sorry for thinking that you cared.
I'm not going to share this to you because doing so would be tricking myself into thinking you actually gave a fuck.
My unique arrangement of letters will never spark empathy for me from you.
Never again will I find myself tripping over the same rock.
Well, I should rephrase that because you could never be a rock.
Maybe a raven, like the embedded ink that lies in your skin, because you tricked me with your devious eyes.
Your beautiful black feathers, eyes, claws.
Your beak that took it all away, especially the sun.
My world collapsed and it was dark again.
Without you flowers bloomed, but I didn't see the beauty within.
I could only see the darkness.
Black.
Everywhere I looked.
Black.
It was the darkest four months.
But every day it was lighter.
Gray.
As if the sun was slowly coming back.
Bright.
The light restored on day one-hundred-twenty-two.
I opened my eyes and it was light out.
The beauty was there.
I was there.
And you weren't.
This is when I realized I was okay.