Sorry to myself

For hearing all my doubts so selectively and for continuing my numbing love endlessly. For helping you and myself: not even considering and for beating myself up. For letting you decide if I indeed was desirable, for myself love being so embarassingly conditional and for denying myself to somehow make us compatible, for trying to fit a rectangle into a ball. For blaming myself for your unhappiness and for my impatience when I was perfect where I was. Ignoring all the signs that I was not ready and expecting myself to be where you wanted me to be. Well, I wonder which crime is the biggest: forgetting you or forgetting myself? For being so disassociated from my body and for not letting go when it would’ve been the kindest thing.
To whom do I owe the biggest apology? No one’s been crueler than I’ve been to me.
I'm sorry to myself. My apologies begin here before everybody else, for treating me worse than I would anybody else.