Unsorted
Pale Blue
As pale blue light glows against my face, my thumbs tap like hammers on glass.
“Why did I do that?” “I didn’t mean to say it so—” “What was I thinking?”
Meanwhile, falsehoods, excuses, and empty promises spill forth. Turning confession into currency, I polish pain into politeness.
Emotions take the wheel. Before I can brake— I press Send.
Convinced I’m speaking truth, sure this is the only road, I miss the turn long before I see it.
Familiar signs ahead: “I’ve been down this road before…” “Led astray by guilt— expecting somewhere new?”
When my thoughts return, they dry my mouth like spoonfuls of sawdust.
So, I rescind, I unsend, I delete.
A drop of water hits the screen as it dims. I wipe my eyes— no more excusing existence. The I’m sorrys have to end.