I'm Sorry

I apologize for a whole lot of things — things I should be apologizing for, and things I probably shouldn’t.

Whether I’m right or wrong, I just apologize.

I do it because I have no other way to end it, no other way to say how sorry I am. Even when it’s not my fault. Even when I’m the one who should be receiving the apology, I’d rather say sorry.

To keep the peace.

To fix it, even when I know nothing can be fixed.

Still, I say it.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s almost like a reflex.

I know it might not fix anything. But still, why wouldn’t I say it? Why shouldn’t I say it?

I was taught to say those magic words that, most of the time, don’t actually fix things. But hoping that it will.

“There are five magic words. There are five magic words that I know:

Please,

Excuse me,

Sorry,

Thank you,

And the last one,

Pardon me.”

Taught at a very young age as a poem. A burn on my tongue, left either by my own hands or by a world that often felt out of my control. But hoping it will be one day.

Maybe that’s why I apologize for everything.

Even when I’m hurt, I apologize.

Even when I’m angry, I apologize.

Even when I’m the one waiting to hear “sorry,” I say it first.

And ever since, I have always said sorry for things that were never in my control.