I'm sorry.

I don't think I could ever express myself in any other way, except through this form of communication. I was never good at speaking, and I'm sure this piece of writing will have errors in it. I'm not perfect, and I don't think I want it to be.

I'm sorry.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? I always do that when I'm nervous or when I feel at a loss for words. I really am sorry, you know. I really am sorry for all of this, all of the mess, all of the debacle, all of the catastrophic events. There is nothing I can say except I'm sorry, and I don't know if it's something that you will take to heart.

I know you mean well when you accept my words, but it hurts me anyways. It hurts because I can't do anything. I can't be there for you in person. I can't talk to you in person. I can't relate to you in person. I have no experience here. Julie would understand. I'm just a stupid girl one state down who can only tell you that things will be fine, and things will bounce, and things will jump right back again, and things will be all right. That's all I can say. It's my one, true belief, the only sunny disposition in my life that keeps me from drowning in a world of cynicism. I've never liked the pessimistic view, because I've always believed that it will be all right.

I'm sorry.

It's all I can say, it's all I can really say. Julie would help you so much more, because she can actually reach out and touch you. She is much more empathetic and eloquent with her words and her feelings than I could ever be. I'm just raw and stupid and fucked up in the head, and I pry into people's businesses all the time. I'm a nosy, sixteen year old girl who has a hell of a time talking about her friends and boys and homework. I tell you that my family matters, and you say yours, too, but the minute time turns rough, and someone you love is gone—

I can't do anything about it.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for not being there. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. I'm sorry for writing this sorry piece of an exposition in an attempt to try to make you feel better. It does not make me feel better. I'm sorry that someone you love died. I'm sorry I'm just quietly sitting here. I'm sorry I didn't know your aunt. I'm sorry that Julie isn't with you. I'm sorry that Jamie isn't with you. I'm sorry that I'm going to cry because you can't. I'm sorry that I'm just a little, sixteen-year-old Asian girl who can do nothing but cry and throw fits and write run-on sentences. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so fucking sorry.

My eyes are blurring now, and I'm sorry I'm not crying out loud. I'm aware of the fact that I just came home, all foul and in a black mood. I'm aware that there is this faint pressure underneath my ribcage, and I'm so angry that it isn't bigger, that it isn't suffocating me, that it isn't making my throat itch, that it isn't making my skin crawl, that it isn't making my eyes water more.

I'm sorry.

I don't want to feel distant and cold and unemotional. I don't want to feel like I can never sympathize with you. I've never dealt with any of this before; all I can do is make stupid plots about boys with piercing and body art. I don't want to not be able to tell you that it's going to be all right, because it's all I can do. It's all I have ever really been able to do.

I'm sorry.

My stupid sentences and my stupid words are here. Unedited. This is how I feel, raw and dumb. I can't fix it, I can't pretend that it hurts as much as it does to you, and I can't pretend that I'm as sensitive as Julie, and I can't pretend that it's affecting me from fifty miles away.

I'm sorry.

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(but it will be all right please believe me)

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