I can't be whatever you want me to be. I'm flawed. I do mistakes, sometimes I apologize, most of the time I let the awkward silence fill the air. You know they say everything happens for a reason; they are the colours in your life, or else it'll be dull. Boring. But too much colour on a then-white little canvas can be overwhelming. A total mess. Suffocating.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'll never be something you ever wanted.
