Mistake

The amount of weight words can carry behind them is crushing.

It’s in the undeniable truth of the matter that you find the most pain. The fact that no matter what will or can happen, this has been said, been done, and there’s no removal of the words.

You can plead and try, beg for removal or forgiveness. Beg for some kind of change in the matter, but it doesn’t work. It never does. Because why should they listen? Do they even listen? Does it matter if they listen?

Who do you even beg to?

The mistake was evident from the moment that the words slipped out of your lips, by the way the room’s temperature dropped, by the way time stalled, by the shock that appeared on their face.

Did you mean it? You don’t think you did. You don’t want to have meant it. But the doubt lurks, even now that it’s off your chest. The doubt breeds panic. The panic breeds mistakes. It breeds quick sentences and stumbled words and unintelligent blubbering.

It breeds the pain you see festering on their face.

So you try, you try to take the words back. You want to reclaim the mistake you've made and try to fix your blunders but everything’s different now. You can’t go back to the calm, to the happiness you felt five minutes ago. That was then and it’s forever lost. Nothing, meaningless. It’s a page in a history book never meant to be written.

Because no one cares about a nobody who f***s up.

Abrupt movement changes your scene. They move to their feet and you try to stop them. You try to make them stay so you can fix your mistake and salvage what you can, but they’re too fast. Their pain sends them flying, with wings attached to their ankles that moves them through the house.

They've always wanted to fly, and you promised you would take them. In a way, you have, but it’s away from you, not with you like you wanted.

You try and catch up, but your feet are like lead and you’re left stumbling, a clumsy mess that just can’t keep up. Your whole body betrays you because no, no, no, how could you ruin everything like this? You’re shutting down, from fear, from disappointment, from failure.

The door slams shut and they’re gone. You’re alone, knees to the ground, staring after them. You hope that maybe, somehow, they’ll come back. They’ll decide to hear you out and you can fix this, you can stick a band-aid over what’s happened and hope the throbbing gash will close and smooth over.

But they never come back, and you’re left alone, an idiot that’s kneeling on the floor, staring at a door that isn't going to open. It hits you all at once and the tears come moments later. You crumble, broken, cursing and begging, pleading and appealing to whoever’s listening that no, you didn't mean it, please come back because you want to fix this.

Not everything can be fixed in life. You want it, but know, even if you won’t admit it just yet, that you won’t get to fix it.

And it’s only confirmed when you see them again. You think, and you hope, that maybe, now, you’ll get your chance to fix everything. But they turn away the second your eyes meet. You freeze in surprise and regret it immediately, because then they’re gone.

From your sight.

From that hallway.

From your life.

Reviews

[isus]

don't worry about the thing, cause every little thing is gonna be all right :D