Trying to find the words to say before the battery dies out. Before the regret and the anger and the grief run dry, too. Before you’ve moved on. Moved out. Moved away.
Would I make things worse? Would you even respond? Do I have anything meaningful left to say?
I remember when you met my mom. You went for the handshake, she went for the hug.
She hates me as much as you do now. My fault. I’m sorry. It’s the only thing that’s running through my mind.
I’m too late.