End of May

In the middle of the night someone called me. It turned out to be someone from the past. He said, "I have something important to tell you". "What?" I asked gruffly.
"I apologize for what I did in the past", he pleaded languidly.

My memory drifted across the years that had passed. I searched for you. It's empty. There is no memory left of you there. I don't know what you apologized for. It's useless. Even if you regret it in the end. I forgave you without knowing anything. I thought, ah, let it be. Let it be over quickly. I don't want to deal with you, a past that no longer exists in my memory.

Damn indeed. Everything about you smoothly flows into writing. It turns out that there is one thing I remember about you. In the past, I poured everything into writing that never reached its master. Even though I've written very much and long. It was useless, it never reached the person I really hoped to read it.