I'm sorry if you ever felt like you had to stop telling stories. I didn't want you to.
I had my own stories to tell and I wanted to know you knew, but it wasn't always obvious. I couldn't always tell you cared. You made listening to me look like a chore.
I'm sorry if I ever shifted the conversation when it was inappropriate to do so. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in the way I needed to be, but I'm mostly sorry your best friend bore witness. She didn't understand I was feeling protective.
And I'm sorry I'm not even sure if she is your best friend. But that's not on me anymore.
But to be the one. To really be the one. I tried to track the time, even when no one replied. I am assured I don't need to feel any certain way anymore anyway, that your happiness, no matter how much it meant to me, was never also mine.
I knew you were waiting just as much as me. There are no drive-bys, there are only miles away 20 minutes ago. There you are, but not outside my work anymore. There was one week, then there were three weeks. Now someone else helps me with the repairs. I haven't decided who yet. But there is no need there anymore.