I'm sorry I met you before I finished building myself,
things would've been different.
I'm sorry that all I had to offer you were these pieces I haven't figured out how to assemble yet.

You deserve a girl who's well aware of what whole means and can give herself to you without losing anything. 

If I could change one thing, it'd be the illusion I gave you that I wasn't full of empty promises and empty bottles. I have worries in bags under my eyes from the nights I sat up imagining a world where my mind was capable of processing the way your fingertips melted into my hipbones. 
My stomach keeps dropping the way it did the nights I never texted you back. 

My heart hasn't ever known loss, until the pieces fell onto the floor in front of me and I exposed to you the evil inside. And how could I expect you to stay, after I tore apart the idea that I was anything you could live with. How could I expect a girl who's lived up to every criticism, promise and expectation to understand that I can't take any of those without a bottle of Klonopin to soothe the burn. 

You never believed I was broken, until I peeled off the skin I was hiding under and showed you the parts of me that ran away with every other person who thought I was worth it. 
And I'm sorry I wasn't. 
And I'm sorry I keep apologizing, you like to think I do nothing wrong. 
But this was me, this was the pieces I couldn't put together before you. This was my disruption.