Love letter # 894

Of all the things I have fallen short in, loving you is the most telling.

It is not your accusative snarl that cuts, it is the pain it voices. The awful wrench that separates dream from reality, expectation from delivery. The mirage has resolved to thirst, and I too am parched.

We may all be flawed, but this does not absolve me. I promised what I promised. Did what I did. The result is less than love – or rather, it does not resemble the vision we both fell for. Now I am the tarnish, the entropy.

It is difficult to watch you crumple. Harder still to accept the truth of my part in the process of disintegration. Even though I did not mean to, it was my action, my omission, that accelerated the end we have now come to.

In light of this, apology is lame. So, let sorry be my final failing.