I am sorry
For my laugh and how loud it is
And for how big I get when I’m excited
To see you
Or a puppy
Or a sunset
Or the next season of my favourite series.
I am sorry
For not moving over, or closer
Or for not crossing my legs a little tighter, shrinking into my seat
So that your knees can spread across two.
For being too slow and yet too fast,
And for not smiling,
Or for smiling too big and at the wrong time.
(“What’s so funny?”)
I am sorry for being too old
And for having children, who are both too young and too old.
Sorry for having a past,
And a pet
And not enough free time, and all the wrong hobbies.
Skiing? Dirt bikes? Fishing? Ranking IPAs?
And I’m sorry that you didn’t get the joke
(Sorrier than you know)
And that I had to explain it twice. Wait, three times.
Nevermind, it’s not funny.
I’m sorry that I’m not ready
To need you
To give up my independence
To find what you’ve lost, to feed you, to make your house smell good.
I’m sorry for dancing
Around your feelings
And tiptoeing around your trauma.
I’ve been sidestepping egos with apologies for a long time.
So, I’m sorry.