I’m sorry for writing too many prose and poems about you – I’m sorry for letting the whole world know how much you mean to me, when I should’ve just kept it to myself and took actions – instead of burying myself under the letters, morphemes, and figures of speech about my love for you.
I’m sorry for being the poet who’s unrequitedly in love with a muse she can never call her own – I’m sorry for making words as my armor; I know I can only hide behind this shield because I will never be courageous enough to tell you how I feel.
I’m sorry if I wrote too many letters and felt too much emotion – you can’t blame me for falling so hard for you. You were that fine streak of light in my world full of darkness – you occupied that void I never thought could ever be filled in.
I’m sorry for turning our memories into memoirs – a collation of how ‘you and I’ came into existence. I would never want to forget even one moment – I’d love to have it written with paper and pen. All the things we said and did – I have it all in my memory lane and I chose to write it all down, as well.
Perhaps it’s all overwhelming for you – have you never felt a love this immense? To be honest, as do I – so, I’m sorry for writing all those poems and prose about you. Writing was my only way of not keeping all my feelings in – I had to do it, I had no other choice.
I don’t care if no one would believe any moment stated in my poems – as long as you recognize each line and feel it in your heart that it’s true – my feelings for you are real and genuine, you’re the only reader I’m anticipating to actually read my words.
However, this is me saying I’m sorry for turning you into a muse – sorry for not having that courage to tell you upfront about how I feel for you.
Because perhaps, like any poet, I would just want to write stories about love and heartbreak – be the mere creator of stories and prose. But sabotages her own happiness, for she believes a person coming into her life only means she will have more some things to write – which explains the muses in all her poems.
So, again, I’m sorry for loving you – sorry for including you into this curse that I am in; the curse of poets, the curse of writers – the curse that states a poet will always remain a writer of poems and never be the muse in one.