I'm sorry I know too much.
That one day, I'll open my eyes and realize everyone was faking it.
That tomorrow, I'll walk from a parking lot to grab a box of books
no one reads, and shuffle through them. That someone has a plan
I don't know, or that I'm mad when someone achieves at adulthood
when I don't. I'm sorry for him. That he doesn't know what we can't say,
and that half the time, words mean nothing. And the other half,
the wrong thing. Sparta fought with 300 and I can't fight with one.
I'm sorry for Dave and Busters, and the tilted shuffleboard table
that left you alone with her. And the fact I stayed the night.
I'm sorry I keep trying. To do what? Pretend or explain?
Because is dangerous and I always wanted to be an actress.
Life teaches you how to act okay, even when you're not.
And when you're not, you ought to be. Otherwise, you're ungrateful.
And sorry. But really, even when I wake up yawning, I'm not tired.
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