Remorse

Dear Delyara, I saw her name in a random email today, and it felt like a physical punch to my stomach after all these years. I am still carrying the weight of the way I ended things, the words I used like weapons because I was too immature to handle my own fear. I’ve tried to be a better person since then, to be kinder and more patient, but that version of me still haunts my reflection. Every time I find happiness, a small voice reminds me that I don't deserve it because of what I did. The guilt isn't a sharp pain anymore; it’s a dull ache that has become part of my skeleton. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me, and I know for sure I haven't forgiven myself.