There is something to be said about regrets.
About being unable to say the truth. Regret.
Being unable to lie to save you from hurt. Regret.
Being unable to turn back time.
Being unable to really talk.
Being unable to say what I was thinking.
Being unable to say what you wanted to hear even.
Regret. Regret. Regret. Regret.
Not seeing that you really meant that I love you.
Not saying it enough myself.
Regret. Regret.
And with regret, I begin mourning a friendship.
And like a bad habit, continue to court regret.
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