You built scaffolds of patience around my distractions. I called it friendship. You called it work. Now I call it a debt I can’t repay except by staying awake the way you always did.
The words sat in my chest like stones I forgot to throw. You spoke in patterns I only later understood— not riddles, but quiet maps of a place you were trying to show me. I was looking the wrong way. sorry karl
So here— my attention, finally. Not to fix. Not to earn absolution. Just to say: You were right. About the thing. About me. About the weight of showing up. You built scaffolds of patience around my distractions
Here’s a short piece titled — written as a reflective or poetic apology. Sorry, Karl sorry karl