No Regrets

You told me you hoped I had regrets, but to tell you the truth, I only have one. When we first broke up, I knew it was necessary. In order to prevent something pure from disintegrating, you need to end it, and I was too weak to resist you.

Shortly after that I got her sigil tattooed on the back of my arm, but what I never told you is that it was also about you. Corruptio Optimi Pessima. You never believed you would ever be as important as her, but either you couldn't believe that about yourself, or worse, didn't trust that my affectionate words were said in the purest of sincerities.

Et cetera. Either it's your anger towards the hurt that blinded you, or you genuinely didn't believe that when I said I saw grandeur in your eyes, I fucking meant it.

You'll always hate me, and possibly never forgive me, and I deserve that. If we all choose our regrets then I should have picked the one that would have been better for you, instead of the one you wanted. But we loved each other and we are human. It's in our nature.

They say tattoos can also be scars, but I hope one day you can see my name upon your ribcage like I see her sigil on the back of my arm. Apart from that, no, I don't have any regrets. I don't have any regrets apart from that. No regrets. I'm grateful I met you. After all, you were my Wonderwall.