Forgive me father for I have lived

Confession:

I don’t know much, but paper thin days begin to feel familiar, and when the pile up becomes too high I forget its even there.

Confession:

I forgot to water the plants this morning. So this afternoon I figured I’d make up for it by using the whole pitcher. And so when they leaked all over the floor I used your t-shirt to clean it up.

Confession:

I don’t know where to go. But I must tread lightly, for I might just crack my own chest, and each piece will slip away until I’m drowning in my own lungs.

Confession:

I left your sunroof open when it rained last night.

Confession:

I can’t separate my teeth. I’m staring at the wall and all I want is to tell you that I see me. Or tell me that I see you? I don’t exactly know, but I can feel the words banging on the inside of my brain and with a closed mouth I can hear them shouting for you. Its deafening.

Confession:

I was texting and hit the curb at 60 mph when I got that flat tire. It wasn’t a pothole.

Confession:

I wish to sit and and watch the lights bounce off the river, and for the air to be just cold enough to remember that I can still feel.

Confession:

It was me who left those dishes in the sink hoping somehow they’d make their way into the dishwasher.

Confession:

The park bench is a steady reminder that for someone somewhere things are still good. Because hours before an elderly couple sat and watched the boats pass.

Confession:

I didn’t mean to.

Confession:

I sincerely apologize.

Confession:

I’m trying.