Childhood Reckoning

I found the paper, tucked under old dreams,

a frayed little note, spilling childhood seams.

I wrote, ‘I’m sorry,’ for a toy that I stole,

but the toy was a mask for the ache of my soul.

I stood at the door, small fists clenched tight,

the weight of my sorrow blurred into the night.

Back then it felt simple, a game we all played,

but the truth loomed larger, as shadows invade.

Now, I sift through the past, where innocence clings,

understanding the depth that real pain can bring.

That first little ‘sorry,’ so light on my tongue,

was a drop in the ocean where remorse is unsung.