Regrets

There's a pencil.
Waiting on the desk.
Patiently.
But I'm sorry...I can't think of anything to write.

There's a scrapbook.
Already open to the first page.
Anticipating.
But I'm sorry...There are no memories here.

There's a mountain.
Waiting for somebody to climb it.
Somebody up to the challenge...
But I'm sorry...I'm no climber.

There's a boy on the corner of the street;
cardboard sign in hand...
Desperate.
But I'm sorry...I can't help.

No. I just can't help.