Nobody ever broke my heart for me. I did it myself, every time. It was always my own wishing and hoping and wanting that did the trick.

But I know what I’ve done to others. I know the hurt I’ve caused. Me with my head full of reckless fantasies of faerie tales come true. Me with my fervency, my yearning, my careless dreams.

And that’s what breaks my heart the most. But we know who’s the cause of that.

And I’m sorry doesn’t fix a damn thing or set matters right. And besides, I’m done with feeling sorry. Well, mostly done.

People talk of regret like it’s a bad or useless emotion. But I don’t know. Is holding regret really such a terrible thing?

Owning the hurt you’ve inflicted. Feeling what you’ve done.