Immaturity

I could perhaps apologize

I won’t

But

I could

I’ve promised myself though to lie no more

There’s no thrill left to it

No excitement in the prospect of being caught

No ecstasy of again crafting an illusory reality more tangible than the one you touch

I could perhaps regret

I won’t

But

I could

I’ve promised myself though to regret no more

There’s no honesty to it

No lingering discomfort of guilt

No satisfaction of psychological scarring

I could perhaps forgive

I won’t

But

I could

Alas

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