I’m sorry.

How was I supposed to know

that you’re an artist

And that you give everyone you meet, a painting?

I’m so embarrassed

How was I supposed to know

that whispering in my ear, softly, tenderly breathing against my neck

was because of bronchitis?

I said that I was sorry…

How was I supposed to know

the dopey girl you brought to the party

the one who fell asleep

while you and I stood outside counting stars

the one you make fun of everyday at work

was more than a friend

when I told her in the bathroom at Seth’s party

That I was going to fuck your brains out

since you told me that you think Im pretty

and that you dream about me

everyday?

You laugh at my jokes.

You send funny quips to my phone.

You made a mix tape for me of my favorite band.

So I shouldn’t apologize but I will…

I didn’t mean anything.

It was just a joke….

How was I supposed to know?