Breaking up with someone throws your entire apology meter off. You’re perpetually sorry. You’re perpetually waiting to hear he’s sorry. And as the two of you grow apart, communicating less by the month, you begin storing your sorrys, like some sad camel, only to find them spilling over and out of your mouth at unexpected moments.
Walking around someone: “sorry.” The sound of your cough: “sorry.” It becomes a part of you, it’s immutable, until the night in the Hannaford’s parking lot when you’re pressing the lock button to a friend’s borrowed car to hear a gentle “beep” and flash of the lights. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you say.
Image by Janaka.