Remorse.

Sorry.

See. Sorry, but that’s never enough.

You break a plate.

No matter how many times you apologize to it, it’s going to remain broken.

How many sorrys is it needed? More than you can ever imagine.

Regret dwells within me for now.

Sometimes, it is good to be able to forget about problems.

Guess I’ve no good outlet for now.

I wonder what is it like to forget things easily.

At least, no broken plates need any sorry from anyone.

 

The whimsical knows little to no regret. Living life as they please.

Oh, what will it be like to live life like it used to be?

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