Sorry

Sorry, a quiet word that lingers
Like rain on a London pavement,
Softening the edges of harsh goodbyes,
A breath held between heartbeats.

We whisper it when the teacup clinks,
When the tea has gone cold,
When the stitches of a torn seam
Need mending with gentle thread.

Sorry is the colour of dawn
Over the Thames—pale, hopeful,
A promise that the mist will lift,
That forgiveness can bloom in the fog.

So let us offer it freely,
Not as a shield, but as a hand,
Reaching across the cobblestones
To say, “I see you, I’m here.”