It’s probably me who should have texted you at an earlier time.
It’s probably me who should have initiated the hangout for the 50th time in a row.
It’s probably me who should have invited you the third time rather than leaving it at the second invite after you bailed on me at the last minute… Again.
It’s probably me who shouldn’t have said anything when you were talking about that one time you went kayaking and fell in the water. I wanted you to know that I could have related—I fell into the water while kayaking for the first and only time when I was in grade seven, while on a field trip with a lot of other children in my grade.
It’s probably my fault for buying a small birthday present for someone I don’t really know that well when a group of us went bowling the other night because a mutual asked me to come, and I didn’t want to go empty-handed, knowing that it was your birthday. But your face fell a little as I handed you the present that I bent my back over wrapping. You accepted it, with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You said, ‘Thanks,’ and placed it at the bottom of your bag. It’s probably my fault for getting you a present when I probably shouldn’t have.
It’s probably my fault for not telling you a fifth time about the poems I write because it seems like you can’t quite remember what I do as a career again, even though I think what I do is the simplest thing ever.
I should have tried harder to text you. I should have been more patient. I should have thought about how busy you are. Too busy to reply to me.
It’s my fault for checking my phone once every thirty minutes to see if someone—anyone—texted me.