After “Too Few to Mention”

I am mathematically over mid-20s; I got a few regrets.

I almost always regret how little sleep I got the night before.

I regret not calling my parents more often, but sometimes I regret I did.

I regret the first puff.

I often regret starting my sentence with I.

I regret ordering any food with okra and squash.

I regret staying, knowing it’s dragged on too long.

I occasionally regret buying the cheapest pine nightstand at amazon but storing my most expensive pair of pearl earrings there.

I regret telling jokes before figuring out if it works.

I regret not wearing cologne to his place, only to smell the last girl.

I regret habitually dodging his eyes right when he stared at me with that unintended gentleness.

I regret, almost perpetually, piecing together the broken parts shattering.

I regret peeking through my best friend’s pink hard-cover diary, where I didn’t see my name popping up once.

I regret that I couldn’t stop the bicycle accident at the end of the film One Day.

I recently forget how much I regret about the ending of things.

I regret LA.

Even more so, I regret that I’ll never get to put on that tourist rosy-colored dreamy lenses with LA, when this city feels bright, open, untainted by day-to-day worries. A nicely wrapped invitation you simply can’t turn down. An escapist paradise that no one, not a single palm tree, judges you for longing for that sun-bathed ease.

I regret filling this city with memories, from hideous murals to the permanently closed wine bar on sunset boulevard.

I regret recalling them, good or bad, too many times, till they aren’t refresh anymore; like your worn-out sheet music because you have played it excessively.

I regret leaving her waiting at the Szechuan dinner place; it was a chilly spring night. She wore a dark puffer jacket, I made fun about the rustling sounds. I regret making silly jokes. In July, she left indefinitely.

I regret, over and over, watching my bananas go bad. The brown spots spring up on their smooth yellow skin, forming lines and blocks, forming a chinese landscape painting.

I always regret getting in lines for new products.

I regret vegan steak, JetBlue flights, and grammarly premium subscription.

I regret how soon John Lennon has left, does he imagine on the other side?