A Letter Of Sorries

I couldn't help it. You were dashing at me to retrieve your book back when you fell. You weren't hurt, and it was so funny.

Your stringy hair got tousled into some sort of deformity, and your legs were up in the air. That was when I noticed you weren't wearing matching socks, and I started laughing even more when I saw one was red, and one was yellow. I had never seen a more interesting combination, and had certainly never looked at a yellow sock before.

I guess my giggles prompted everyone else to start to too. I was so surprised when you began to cry: tears rolling down a mountain of skin. I didn't realize how much it hurt, and remembered when people had done that to me when I was younger. I just didn't think.

I'm here to tell you I'm sorry. Sorries don't mean anything truthful, deep, and so real. I can't believe I was so mean to you that you left school. I must really be a horrible person, huh?

nowadays, because gifts and money mean to much. Still, maybe you're one of the few who still holds and trusts them dearly if they are sincere enough.

I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I miss your read aloud writings in English class. Those stories transported us into another person whether we were popular, or predudiced, or not. Everyone was in awe that stories and poems could be so deep, truthful, and real. You have so much writing talent.

Well, have a great day,

Nancy

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