Zero Percent

I had the sentence ready. It was long,

a messy pile of 'sorry' and 'I know.'

I was trying to admit where I was wrong

before I let the whole resentment grow.

I tapped the glass, the letters jumping fast,

and then the screen just flickered and went black.

The bus stop is a vacuum. The time has passed.

I’m standing here with no way to go back

or finish what I started. Now I see

my own eyes squinting in the hollow frame,

a dark, rectangular mirror mocking me

for waiting until the very end to name

the thing I ruined. I’m just a silhouette

held in a plastic brick that’s lost its spark.

I haven't even caught the bus yet,

and it's getting very quiet in the dark.