Within there is a burning need to apologize; to tell you how much I regret being a such a disappointment. But I’m afraid; fearful you won’t forgive me and will instead express how you hate me. I was very wrong. I’m sorry and mourn losing you every single day. D.W.

Love never dies a natural death.
It dies because we don’t know how
to replenish its source. It dies of
blindness and errors and betrayals.
It dies of illness and wounds;
it dies of weariness,
of withering,
of tarnishing.
Anais Nin