too late/the road not taken

i would be lying if i said i didn't miss it when you used to look at me that way.

made it my goal to capture your happiness so that it could live forever. instead it pains me to see it now, removed as i am from it. still, paradoxically, nothing makes me more glad than knowing i could have caused even a tiny sliver of it, a fraction of a fraction of a fraction. and the proof is staring me right in the face– right there, on your own.

there is nothing else to say but this.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.