11.13

an internal plea for forgiveness, was murmured – but it never left my head. as my pupils strain themselves; reading words of my own, written to another. forgive me, i want to say. for the times i grew brittle and cold. yet, in turn rotated the blame and inflicted it unto you. you were a mirror, who held up a reflection for a person i did not want to meet in the eye. for the nights, i spoke with brutal honesty, without any consideration for your threshold for holding hurt. for the words, i threw across the room in a thoughtless rage. there were too many times, my speech churned themselves into a spell of misconstrued intentions; this was what i should have considered apologising for.

my empathy escapes me, and once again; i am consumed by the wrath of pride.

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