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Sometimes at night before I go to bed, I stare at my wall and count the number of times that day that I regretted something I said. It’s like the things I want to say stay bottled up like one of those impossible ship things and they could fall apart at anytime but somehow they always managed to stay intact and they don’t come out of the bottle because the pieces are too big to fit out the hole but then the things I don’t want to say at all are like a flood and it rises up and then the levees break and the water floods the city and no one was actually prepared and no one blew up rafts or boarded their windows and the houses are like peoples ears and minds and the things I didn’t want to say flood them and even if mother nature decides she didn’t want to flood the people’s houses, even if she takes the words she was saying back the flood still leaves mold in people’s floor boards and ruins their memories and carries away their belongings because you can regret something and apologize for it and people can forgive you for what you say but in the end you still leave some type of mark that maybe they will remember for a long time and you aren’t sure how it’ll heal because it probably won’t because they’ll never forget it.

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