I didn’t wake up wanting to admit anything.
No one does.
It’s easier to pretend the cracks weren’t made by my own hands.
I kept replaying the moment things broke,
like if I watched it enough times,
I’d find a version where I didn’t do what I did.
But the truth doesn’t bend for comfort.
I tried practising the words in my head,
but every sentence felt like a shortcut
or a lie wearing clean clothes.
Maybe that’s what an apology really is:
standing in front of the damage
with nothing left to offer
except the honesty you avoided.
I finally said the words,
quiet, uneven,
hoping they meant something this time.
I wasn’t trying to fix what you lost,
I was admitting I knew the cost.
From Cape Town, South Africa, Khumo Gaji is a writer and student. Khumo developed a passion for poetry as a means of self-expression while pursuing a degree in Chartered Accounting at the University of Cape Town. Poetry is still the most authentic means for him to express his feelings and thoughts, even though he is not a professional writer. He writes in mainly free verse and uses reflective storytelling to capture silent moments, unsaid emotions, and the complexity of life as a whole.