I’m Sorry – A Monologue

Hi. That’s how you start a conversation. That’s also how you start a friendship. And that’s how we started.
I met you at the dusty old library tucked in the corner of some sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. I was doing my assignment last minute. You know, like a normal university student. Suddenly the door opened. A draft of wind caressed my face. And then I saw yours.

I’ll be honest here. You weren’t the prettiest or the cutest girl I ever saw. But you got my attention. Mostly because as soon as you walked in, you tripped on something and fell on your bum. I chuckled, then fruitlessly continued to do my assignment that was due yesterday.

There must’ve been dozens of empty seats in the entire library. But you took the one next to me. Maybe it was because of my charming good looks? I later found out that it was only because it was close to the plug point. Out of some sort of divine interference, our laptops both died at the same time. As I reached for the plug point. Our heads bumped.

It was so easy. Our friendship. We ate lunch together. We laughed, we talked about our goals, our dreams, both awake and asleep. We’d talk about how annoying our lecturers are, how good the nasi lemak is, how we loved that moment between seeing the lightning flashed and when the thunder clapped. We told stories, that was what we did everytime we were together. A series of never ending stories. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. Because we would both wanted to share everything about ourselves, so much so that we sometimes forgot to sit and just listen. I will never forget the story of how your uncle who lives in Perlis, somehow manages to get Thai channels and learns the language through their programs. But only the bad words, never the good ones.

It was around a year of this after multiple fickle crushes and easily forgotten cinta monyet. That I finally realized

I loved you.

And that you were cutting yourself.

You had just gotten through a rough break-up with your long time boyfriend. He cheated on you. He called you ugly. He said you were worth less. I saw you coming out of the bathroom, your eyes red, your wrists even redder. You told me you hated him. You swore to me me you hated him. Please, we’ve been together so much that I knew you were lying. Somewhere inside you still loved him. I swore to myself that I will never ever forgive that son of a bitch. I won’t forgive me. For letting this happen to you. I hope you will.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that your heart has gone through so much. That it’s been played stabbed cheated crushed burned and broken. That its been crumbling flaking falling breaking tearing crying for help. That its been thrown hurtled dropped and flopped. Torn apart like paper in coursing water. Stepped on like grass on a football field. Thrown away like last night’s leftovers. It couldn’t mustn’t shouldn’t be this way.

I’m sorry it was.

I’m sorry that you met the scum that did this to you. The way they played with your heart like its the newest Play Box their daddies bought them. The way they told you were ugly when you weren’t wearing makeup and tell you you were ugly when you do. The way they broke your self-esteem like it was their mother’s favorite vase except it wasn’t as important. They couldn’t mustn’t shouldn’t do this.

I’m sorry they did.

But most of all,
I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.
To stop it. Stop the tears that were coming, the pain that was going , the hurt that was staying and the lies that were telling.

To hug you when you’re hurting, to hold you when you’re crying, to slap you when you’re hallucinating, to listen to you when all you needed is some cheap piece of cartilage to open up and let your words in.

To stop you. From meeting those guys in the first place, from crying by yourself on a Tuesday, from locking cutting and hurting yourself from the rest of the world. To take the knife from your hand and teach you that the only thing a knife should cut is food on the table, tape from boxes and ties to those people. That it should never, ever be used on yourself.

Never yourself.

But I’m here now.

Call me when you need me, call me when you don’t. Allow me to wash my shirt again because they were stained with your tears. Ask me to hear you out and show me in and listen to you deeper and be with you closer.

Let me tell you why I love you, whenever you need a reminder as to why you need and should love yourself.

You are beautiful. But not for your round brown eyes. You are beautiful because of what you do with them. How you use it to look at all the good things about people and never the bad. The way it’s softness and warmth bring strength to the weakest spirits. The way you scrunch your eyebrows when you worry. The way it reflects my soul back at me like the clearest newly-made mirror.

They way it’s light promises not only good fortune for the day, but hope for the next
You are not beautiful because of your toothy smile. But for how you make others smile with it. The cheeky grin when you make a crappy joke. The smile of relief when you’re finally done with work. The way your head rolls back when you’re laughing at me. You’re smile is not why you’re beautiful. Your smile is what makes the world beautiful.

You are not beautiful for your smile, eyes, nose, ears, hair, hands, mouth, cheeks, feet, fingers, toes. You are beautiful because you represent every thing that is and ever was beauty.
I’ll be a mirror who’ll show, you and reflect, you and present, to you and explain, to you and SHOW YOU the definition of everything that is beautiful because that is what you are,

you are Beautiful

nothing lesser, and Everything more.

Not a writer, but a ranter
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