Who am I kidding? I know what I did wrong
but my errors are mostly sins of omission rather than commission
chief of which was not answering the call of need, or the call of love, even, perhaps
and snuffing out the embers before they might catch
for unfounded fears of catastrophic firestorms and searing tragedy

and as the obscuring smoke of solipsistic self-pity dissipates, it’s clear that much of this suffering
and all of this loneliness was self-inflicted
and all I’m left with is surveying the great hulking empty ruins of the years of my life
sifting through the ashes and the shattered wreckage
trying to hoard the treasures and forget all the sadness
but the brightness fades if you discard the drear

and I think to myself, maybe this is all I have left
this is all I have to show for
carrying all these bittersweet memories and all these dead ends and broken paths
to the end of my life in a hermetically sealed bottle

but then a voice half-remembered, half-imagined
whispers to me softly, carried across the sea by the wind
“Go and make new memories.”