I'm not even sorry that I'm not especially sorry


I've loved reading some of the posts on Edenland's Fresh Horses linky thingymajig this week. The 'I'm sorry' week. What people are sorry for is amazingly revealing.

Or not. Most of the sorrys seem to be pretty much the same when you really think about it: sorry I'm not perfect.

I'm not sorry for much at all.

I'm aware that there are things I did or didn't do. Roads I took or didn't take. Unmentionables I said or didn't say. All the stuff and nonsense that make up a life, that make up a heart, that make up a me. There's loads of things to be sorry about, I suppose. But I'm not especially sorry.

Aware, but not sorry. Learning, trying, remembering, bettering... but still not sorry.

I'm not crawling around looking for reasons to hate myself. Slithering into corners to mull over my problems or wonder about the couldhaveshouldhavewouldhaves. I'm not over-analysing all the little bits of little that went wrong for me, for him, for her, for you.

I'm not sorry. What's there really to be sorry about? That we're human? That we fail / succeed / fuck-up / get it right / forget / remember / enjoy / loathe / live / breathe? That we breathe?

No, I'm not especially sorry. And I'm not sorry for that either.

Do you apologise a lot?
Do you apologise to yourself a lot?

[Image via weheartit. Not even Tineye can find the owner. Please let me know if it's yours'.]