The sound of an ache

No, I don't think it seemed it very often-

that I loved you.

I dissed you, pushed you away. I called you stupid, in all affection, but a lot of times, not.

I got annoyed by you, loved you, irritated by you, infuriated sometimes, found one who wanted to cuddle when Buttons didn't.

No, no, it didn't seem it very often, that I loved you.

And I'm sorry.

I am so, so sorry.

I picked you up, I took you home.

But then I picked the moments I'd stay for your affection, the moments I'd give in to your need.

And I'm sorry.

I lost you.

I lost you less than a week ago.

And then you came back.

I talked to you, hung out, spent time and thought, "at least now I can fix it."

And as I found myself pushing you out of my room yet again I caught myself saying, "In just a bit okay?" Except, I never would get back to you.

I'll see you, I always do anyways.

Two days, you were home. Two days.

I've lost you.

And now you won't come back.

And I talked to you, held you, and thought, "now I can't fix it."

I'm sorry, Fishbone, I am.

The biggest part of this ache is filled with the knowing of all that I should've, could've done.

Now the only thing I've got left to hold on to is the tiny comfort of a thought that, at least I held you before you left.

That at least you went, while we held you.

I'm sorry, I really am.

You deserved so much more than I ever gave you and I'm sorry for that.

I'll see you, I always do anyways.

Right?