Kyu Kyu Thein
He asked me what I thought regret was.
And, at first, I thought he was joking around.
But his eyes were serious
and his lips downturned
so I had no choice but to actually respond.
“Well, what do you think regret is?”
I ask him, my mind blank of an answer.
He shrugs.
“Regret is to wish that you could do things differently.”
And while he isn’t wrong,
I don’t think that I’d have the same answer as him.
To me, regret are words hung in the air
with both sides hesitating to catch them.
Regret is hesitant, curled up in a ball of anxiety
and sitting on the edge of your seat.
Regret is wishing you didn’t buy those expensive shoes
so that you could have more money for groceries.
Regret is hair in the sink
and crooked bangs on your forehead.
It’s seeing a person on campus –
not just any person but the person –
and wondering what could’ve been.
Regret is a drunken encounter, seven shots in.
It’s waking up with a pounding headache.
It’s walking back home at three in the morning, in the windy cold.
Regret is wishing that,
if he was gonna have the audacity to last two minutes,
he should’ve at least bought you an Uber.
Regret is going to 8 am classes with two hours of sleep
and an energy drink in your hand.
Regret is wishing your mom still made you food.
God, you miss her cooking.
Regret is full of language and the barriers that come with it.
Regret is mumbling under your breath.
Regret is put into a cardboard box
and collects dust in the garage.
Regret never sees the day of light.
Regret shuts its eyes tightly
and braces for the fall that never comes.
“Well,” he asks, “What do you think regret is?”
I check the time on my phone and shrug.
“I like your answer.” I say, before going back into the party.
I don’t regret not telling him what my real answer was.
Sometimes, regret is better left unsaid.