By dslexia
Date: 16 June 1998

Sorry, babe (fill in the blank)

I'm sorry.  Ticket to forgiveness.  Empty offering to rid the skies of 
trouble.  Ticket to ride.  I'm sorry I forgot to get coffee.   I'm sorry 
this flight is booked.  I'm sorry I ran over your cat.  I'm sorry I 
don't have time to listen to you.  I'm sorry I cheated on you.  I'm sorry 
I fell in love with someone else.  I'm sorry I can't attend your life…I 
have something else to do that day.

Sorry is as sorry does.  Sorry is a sorry excuse.  Sorry encompasses 
far too much.  And then again…not enough.  After the hurt is felt, 
and neatly placed in the hall closet, tucked away next to the "regret" 
section,   sorry doesn't come and launder the hurt.  
Nope. 
  
Everyone thinks it does.  That with a quick wave of the "sorry" wand, 
everything will be a-ok.  Hell, even the receiver of the nicely fluffed 
and folded "sorry" deludes himself into thinking that everything prior 
will disappear, and life will start anew.  I think that they are wrong
for embracing that notion.  

Hurt is a haunting thing.  It occasionally escapes from its closet perch
and runs around the house in the middle of the night, like a wild child 
unleashed.  And sometimes,  all the little hurts line themselves up…boldly,
and in stark daylight, just so you will know that they have company…
that nothing is coincidence….that patterns in the universe truly exist.  
And, try as you may,  to contact the magical "sorry", you find that he has 
taken the day off… leaving you to ponder the existence of patterns, 
laundered hurts, and your ability to truly forgive. 
 
After all, genuine forgiveness requires a trip to the linen closet… 
to gingerly carry the pile of hurts to the plastic bag marked "goodwill".
Only then…when you cast them to the universe…can you truly forgive.  

But I'm sorry…I digress…