Sometime later, I sat with one of my best friends.
I can't look her in the eye because I'm afraid of what she'll see inside. But it doesn't matter because she's already talking about herself.
I listen as she's saying how I've hurt her. How she's already been struggling and then I say that comment that just flew out of my mouth, like a raven I couldn't catch.
I sit there, not knowing what to say. I feel disgusting, I feel wretched. I apologize ceaselessly, but things aren't the same.
Nervously, I put my hands inside my sweater and bend my head. Looking back I realize that was when the thread was removed, a small hole left in it's wake.
It's starting to look a little worn, but I don't care. I love it too dearly to part with it. It still doesn't matter, nobody can see it so I sit and thoughtfully finger the hole. I think of how horrible I am to have hurt someone I love so much. I think of how disgusting I feel, how I never used to feel this way. Then it hits me.
I don't deserve love.