Sometimes, the thoughts come as if from nowhere. As if they just materialize out of thin air.

But that's not where they really come from.

I've written about that night, back when I couldn't control myself enough to stop my words from flowing out my fingers onto my screen and out into the world. I've written about what a good person I was. What a good friend I was. I've written about how I wondered what might have happened. If I'd been less of a good person, less of a good friend. If I'd been like most guys, on that night so long ago.

Sometimes, the thoughts come unbidden. And they refuse to go away.

Everything I did that night was wrong. Or, more accurately, everything I didn't do that night was wrong. When I pretended to be noble, told myself that I was doing the right thing, what I was really doing was cowering in fear. I patted myself on the back for being so selfless, but I'd done the most selfish thing imaginable.

Sometimes, the thoughts get stuck in my head. And I dream the thoughts, and I rip myself away from my dream, and the thoughts are still there.

Even when I wrote about that night, even then I was being selfish. Weighing the alternate possibilities and judging their merits based on would I be better off if, just if, I'd reacted differently.

I wrote about how I might know the answers to some of the questions that had been plaguing me. I wrote about how I could have traded certain and predictable pain for months and years of random anguish.

How could I have known? I asked myself. I was just doing what I thought was right.

Sometimes, the thoughts take me back to a place and a time. Sometimes, they leave me there to find my own way out. If I can.

I should have done something.

I should have brushed the hair from her eyes, and let my fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary against her face.

I should have looked into her eyes, and asked her in my softest voice if she was okay.

I should have pulled her to me, and told her how special and pretty she was.

I should have kissed her, and let her dictate what happened next.

I should have done all of those things. But not because I was a bad person. Not because I was a bad friend. And not even because it was what the world expected of me.

I should have done all those things because she expected it.

And I let her down.

She needed to feel special and pretty, on that night so long ago, and I let her down.

Sometimes, the thoughts abandon me in the dark, to force me to see the light.

That night was never about me. It was never about us.

It was about her.

And I didn't realize that until just a couple of nights ago.

It was about her.

And I let her down because I thought it was about something bigger and more important. On that night, in that place, the only thing that mattered was her.

And I let her down.

This is not another what if entry. This is not another entry about how I wish I'd done things differently. I've written enough of those to last a lifetime.

This is an apology.

I don't know if she will ever read this. I like to think that she will, someday when she's bored and maybe feeling a little nostalgic.

There are a lot of things that I've wanted to apologize to her for. Most of them will fade with the passing of time and the resumption of separate lives, but not this one. This one will remain. Because this one was, as far as I can tell, this one was the first time.

I let her down.

And I'm sorry.