It has been 7 months, 214 days, and 5136 hours.
I haven't stopped thinking about the look in your eyes:
Sadness, pain, and disappointment.
Now I know it was because of me and my silly words.
Oh shit, I should have listened to my mother
when she taught me to shut up.
I'm guilty in this crime, but you were my partner.
I've never, ever regret something, it should mean anything.
The liquids and salty substances that are falling
through my cheeks are my punishment.
My lips crave yours and the taste you've left in my soul.
I dream about you every single night,
I admit, I fucked it up, but I told you I am like that.
This is not a poem, this is my apology.
It has been 7 months, 214 days, and 5136 hours.
Please trust me, listen to me, don't turn your face, come back.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
