Of Remorse & Poetry

My Secret Identity Is

The room is empty,
And the window is open

Charles Simic, The World Doesn't End

Last night, I read a poem by Yeats. It's from the only Yeats book I own. A Poet to His Beloved. The one poem that stands out for me the most is on page 14, "When You Are Old."

Last night, I spoke to a friend about emotions. We're both emotional wrecks. I used to show my emotions better, but lately I've isolated myself. How does one expect a simple apology to undo all the wrongs caused by his hand?