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.

Here’s a short piece titled — written as a reflective or poetic apology. Sorry, Karl

Sorry, Karl. And thank you. Those two birds, finally flying together. Would you like this adapted into a letter, a song lyric, or a voice note script?

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.

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.

Sorry, Karl. Not for the small things—the missed calls, the half-listened theories, the night I laughed too late at something you meant with your whole throat. But for the larger silence: the one where I should have said I see you and instead said I’m fine .