Krissi's "Regret" is spoken by someone who has been left behind, or never fully seen, by a person they cared about. The speaker claims to be that person's "most beautiful regret," which suggests the other one may already feel some sting of loss. Yet the speaker doesn't sound sure it will ever be acknowledged: "you wouldn't realize that."
The images are the heart of it. The speaker calls themselves "a museum full of art" and "the landscape of your favorite place," things people travel to admire and love being around. Their worth is plain and available. The problem is the last line: "you always have your eyes shut." The other person misses all of it, whether through stubbornness, fear, or not caring enough to look.
The mood is quietly sad, with a hint of pride. The speaker knows their value, but there's an ache in knowing it goes unseen. The short, plain lines make it feel like a private thought said out loud.