People don’t always have to carry used baggage.

But some people get so attached to tattered pieces of leather they forget where their hand ends and where their problems begin.

And I can’t figure out where my arm begins or where my bag begins

Sometimes, you can’t count your eggs even after they hatch because maybe they’ll grow up to be adults too fast and you’ll never have time to teach them how to navigate around the mine fields.

Somedays, sorry isn’t enough and when you do something to make up for that sorry, you make things worse.

And then you try to make up for that, you make things.

Then you try to be caring, you make things worse.

I wish I could help, but I don’t think anyone could help me.

This morning, I thought I had it all figured out.

Tonight, I am so far back, I smell blood.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I let you down.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.

I’m sorry I wasn’t a good enough friend.

I’m sorry I am too fucking socially awkward to mean anything.

I’m sorry I try too hard.

I’m sorry I annoy the shit out of you.

I’m sorry I care.

I’m sorry.

Don’t leave your door unlocked for me, ok?

Because I’ve got enough doors to worry about

and even if I have time, I know where your key is.

Well, I used to, but I think you changed the lock.

Or maybe I changed the key.

Or maybe this isn’t about locks and keys.

Or maybe I just miss you.

I saw a Golden Flinch the other day

and I thought to myself,

“Where do you fly to when I’m not looking?

And when I am looking, why do you stay still?”

I pondered the question and continued walking.