hand in glove.

Regret.
I understand you. I’ve never shunned you. And I feel you. Within every fiber of my being, I feel you.
Tickling the back of my brain. Cringe inducing. Feel you at the back of my throat. Wishing I could time travel.
Time travel. What an interesting conundrum.
And yet. This isn’t one of those times. It’s not regret. It’s not remorse. It’s shooting yourself in the foot. It’s sticking your foot in your mouth. Deep. It’s not learning when you’ve said enough.
It’s self realization.
But it’s not regret.
And I have regretted. I know it’s sting. I know the feeling. And you’re not it.