I'm sorry that you’re hurting and I’m sorry that you’re regretting. I wish I could carry your heart, because I know what it feels like when you’re so low. I’d show you the way the water breaks into its calmest hour, remind you to breathe so fully when the air is crisp and icy like it is tonight, and I’d point to the sky, wondering if the stars can hear us from here, because no one else seems to. I wish I could show you what “alive” feels like, but I’m still trying to figure that one out for myself. I’d take those regrets and transform them back into the silenced sparks they started out as. And I’d talk you down and take you back to what you love. And I wish I would have done the same, but these aren’t things we can change easily. I think we’re tied down with these regrets, and I know the disappointment all too well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we’re not doing what we love. And the worst is knowing that our lives should only be consumed by what we love, but passion is apparently not life. But I know it should be.