Between breaths I feel what you must have been feeling, begin to see with a pair of eyes (with which I could never enough be familiar), and I know sinking steadily that there is no undoing of this damage. It is everything I said unthinkingly or breathed in spite. It was reckless; I know that now.

You are beautiful. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you are not. And by God, don't let my actions suggest it. I wastefully wanted that for my own, without relinquishing any of myself, and towed in the net full of hooks and twisted tackle, lines undone. You know that already. I've said this before. But feeling, oh, feeling is different every time.

I say this only because I think it may be something worth knowing. Not a plea for forgiveness, not anymore. I don't think it is forgivable. But know this: not a day goes by that I don't remember, (sleeping waking between breaths) what irreparable hurt I've caused. And it may not matter what anger, what unfairness, what pain I seem to feel burning pinholes in my chest: I welcome them deserved.

Because I saw it all threatening to swallow us, the moment I wanted only for my satisfaction. And it soaked in slowly, so long that for aeons I knew nothing of what a gesture, an eye-blink, a few words can do. If forgiveness never came for one hundred years of silence, it would have been too soon.

But every day I say I'm sorry.