I'm sorry, Momma.
I'm sorry, Momma.
I'm sorry, Momma.
I'm sorry, Momma.
I'm—
Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I let you down.
I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you the first time. I'm sorry for all the times I did you wrong—disappointed you and made you upset every time I made a stupid decision. You were right all along...
Well, well, well. Looks like the elders had the right idea, and I should've listened to 'em. That TV is evil, I was wasting my time playing video games and worrying about recess. I should've been in the books, studying, getting good grades and preparing for my future.
Oh, the horror—the pain and regret. The rage is flooding in, and I don't think I can stop it! I just wasted my youth chasing unholy grails like a fool, and now I'm paying the price for it!
Perhaps this is the story of my life—to stumble and fall over and over until I get the message. What now? Where do I go from here? It's one thing to be sorry, but another to be better.
I have to be better. I have to do better—better than this. Better than I ever was. That's the greatest apology of all.
YOU ARE READING
The Factory Outlet
RandomA catalogue of old writings and new ideas from the mind of yours truly.