the 17th

You have made it incredibly clear to me
drunkenly, repeatedly
that you really, really want me
to go to your show on the 17th.

You have been
a good friend to me.
I like you, you’re alot like me.

You reach out to me
even during the accusation
that I gave you a false name
and a facebook page instead
of a phone number, initially.
You put a hand on me.

i say yeah…don’t worry.
it’s not you, it’s me.
you invite me to your show
again on the 17th.


fuck. im sorry.
ive been avoiding
this explanation.
The truth is,
i just cant make it.
It’s a scheduling conflict.

I hope that doesn’t
mar our friendship.

i feel like
i owed you this.

7 thoughts on “the 17th

  1. “Oh my… I’ll be ever so disappointed you weren’t able to attend my recital. Indeed, saddened.”
    For some reason, I imagined a waifish 1890s boy, begging you to see him play his recorder.

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