Apologies Are For The Weak Mga Nobela at Kwento

"For leaving you here. For walking away. For being too weak to stay. For being too broken to face this alone. For being too afraid to let you see me like this. For being too scared to let you in. For being too ashamed to let you love me." I shook my head. "You don't have to apologize. You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to fall apart. You're allowed to need someone. You're allowed to be human. You're allowed to be vulnerable. You're allowed to be loved."

But I don’t have a weakness because everything is my weakness. I have to apologize to him. I have to tell my brother that I am sorry.

Regina said, "I don't know. You look well but you are acting. Why are you acting so wierd?" I asked in confusion, "Me? and wierd? No, no I am acting fine." Regina said "You are such a Weirdo." I asked again, "Me a wie..r..do?" Regina replied, "Yes, you are a Weirdo. Wait a minute. Why did you tell me good night? Now, it's just afternoon." I said, "Sorry, I am so sleepy than I cannot even talk." Regina asked, "Are you not going to eat?"

If I am going to survive, I must be strong and get it through my head that everyone I once knew was probably dead, including my entire family and best friend. As I trudge through the woods, it feels like too much. My body is weak, and I stop mid-walk. My breath is heavy. It feels like my throat is closing shut. Oh my God, I’m never going to see them again. I think and fall to the ground again, gasping for air. The last words I said to my family were hateful and ungrateful. “I’m a horrible person.” I sob, wrapping my arms around my torso and rocking back and forth. My entire body trembles, and my eyes ricochet around, watching for any movements. The crunch of twigs catches my attention, and I

"Sorry." "Stop apologizing. You did not do anything wrong." "I...okay”

The words weren’t accusatory, but they carried a weight of disappointment that was almost worse. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. The apology sounded weak, pathetic even, hanging in the air like a discarded thread. “I don’t need apologies. I need precision.” His voice was low, resonant, a finely tuned instrument designed for control. Each syllable was carefully enunciated, a subtle reminder of the power he wielded.

As far as apologetic letters go, I think this is the worst one in all of history. Miles isn't very good with words and it's adorable, but it's the effort that counts. There are spots where he wasn't sure if the word he was using was the right one and he erased it so hard he almost ripped through the page. He's better with numbers. "What is that?" Leelie asks as I fold the pages of his apology small enough to fit in my wallet. "You're rocking a crappy velcro wallet? You're ridiculous,"

“Because I don’t need an apology from a shallow, fake person. The apology would also be fake and filthy so why bother?” I shouldn’t have said that and could’ve been the bigger person who just left without causing a scene but I was already feeling pissed off and on edge. Emily scoffed. “Aren’t those big words coming from someone as weak as you?” “How do you define weakness? By physical strength? Because that’s all you seem to have and can be proud of.” “Don’t you think that alone makes me superior?”

What was usually strength, now showed a strange vulnerability. "You shouldn't—I'm sorry." He said. I don't like caring about anyone, Anderson. Of course he was sorry. Why, I wanted to ask him again. Because I never knew how much it could hurt when somebody apologized to you. He never apologized to anyone, but he was doing that right now. Almost as if he was sorry he couldn't have kissed me back, sorry that I wasn't his type. "Like I said," I gently pulled back my wrist from his grasp. "It's fine."