It's Nights Like This

It's nights like this one when sleep is always just beyond reach. The nights where rain breaks like glass against the cracked, uneven sidewalks and the moon is somewhere hidden from view. It's nights like this one where your face comes drifting back to me, clearer than ever.

I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry for you ever meeting me, I'm sorry for all the lies I never said, I'm sorry for ruining your life, as you so kindly put it, and if it makes you happy, then I'm sorry for ever having told you that I loved you. If you want, the heartfelt confession was fake, the sentiments weren't real either, and I never ever cared. Ever. Forgive me now? I didn't think so.

It's nights like one this where I confess out loud over and over just how sorry I am and want to scream the words before dully remembering that somewhere along the way I forgot how to. And I vaguely wonder at these times if the old woman downstairs can hear me, though I'm sure she can; the floors creak while I pace back and forth and when words are spoken loud enough they can be heard anywhere. She probably knows all about you by now.

You know, it's been forever since we last met and the hallway and exchanged a friendly smile or a brief conversation about everything or nothing, depending on our moods. It's been a while I called out to you and you answered back. That was back when the rain and lack of moonlight at night meant nothing.

It's nights like this one that even though I still see you walking through the dirty hallways of the apartment, I am vaguely aware that you died forty-seven days ago while the rain fell and the moon was nowhere in sight. It's nights like this one where the thunder sounds more like the gunshot than anything else.

A/N: Hoped you liked it! If you did or if you're willing to leave constructive criticism, it'd be nice if you told me what you thought. I'd love you bunches. Unless of course, you flame me.