circular logic and an apology

i have to say i'm sorry
for saddling you with an out-of-order me.
you are perfect
and it is beautiful, like
i thought it would be,

right now, i can't consider everything
you are.
i only know
what you are not
and who it is
i want so uselessly.

it's pointless, and
it's obvious
that living life in the fast lane
is the worst kind of loneliness
i've ever had the misfortune
to feel,

conveniently, a familiar stranger appears,
and i am so desperate for something real
that i forget that i am not
one of those girls
who ensnares so easily.

for a second i dare to wonder
about the ways of strangers;
for a second, i think that
(in spite of myself)
something exciting will happen tonight.

but no—
it's always the same story
that i am forced to read,
as a reminder that
things like that
don't happen to me anymore.

and i will say it again—
i am sorry for what i cannot help, and sorry
for always looking over my shoulder for what's
not there, and most of all,
i'm sorry for wanting
more than you can give.