I once knew this girl who sat down one day, alone and quiet, and carved a deep cross into her thigh to bring the pain she was feeling on the inside to her outside. As she lay in bed with her boyfriend the next day he gently traced the cross with his finger and looked up at her imploringly. She turned away saying, "you should never touch someone else's scars." Then they left one another out of fear... And in a fit of wanton despair she flung herself against the wall and shattered into a hundred pieces like a white porcelain plate. In the end her family swept her under the rug, because that's all she said she was worth.
I say I'm sorry 100 times a day, the words have lost their meaning. I'm sorry for not being sorry and I'm sorry for this contradiction.