Please forgive me.
Don’t take my reticence for sullenness,
or my half-smile as an attempt to be polite.
I only lack the energy to be more engaged.
Will I be rejuvenated?
Please forgive me.
My heart is wounded.
It’s not broken.
If it were, I would feel despair.
I don’t.
I’m still moving forward,
although I’m unsure of the path.
Will I stumble or persevere?
Please forgive me.
I know I’ve been absent-minded.
My brain is like a sieve.
I try to remember, but I can’t.
I do care.
There are too many things swimming in my head;
my thoughts are a runaway train.
When will it slow down?
When will I be at peace?
Please forgive me.
I’m not jealous, just proud.
I truly do rejoice in others’ good fortune,
though my own bad luck becomes sharpened.
I look to their success as hope for my own.
When will I overcome?
I don’t know.
Please forgive me.
