Unsent Sorry

The cursor blinks — a quiet, impatient heartbeat

on the dark screen’s edge.

Words line up like soldiers,

but they trip, broken and twisted,

never quite crossing the line.

I rewrite apologies

that land in drafts,

a graveyard of half-truths and stuttering guilt.

The silence between us grows,

a thick wall built of what-ifs

and unsent sorrys,

where I stand, voiceless,

held hostage by my own pride.