You complain how I don’t call you, how I don’t knock on your door at midnight anymore. You wish I would like more of your posts on Facebook. You want me to be free to go drinking every night your depression comes crashing in.
But this isn’t about you is it? This is about me. All of those things apply to me, and they are all my fault. Just like every friend you lost or lost touch with is your fault.
We misread, we take offense, we forget. We are human.
I put too much stock in the belief that you would always be there. We all did, and now you are gone. So am I.
The defendant side is stocked with copies of the plaintiffs.
We end the year, with luck, in the company of many of the people we blame year round. They blame you too. In cult-like unison we all drunkenly promise that this year we keep in contact. We won’t.
As we approach the ages wherein our organs begin to hand in their notices, we can take stock. Any people that I have lost along the way was my fault. I didn’t message them when I thought of it. I saw them at the store, but didn’t want to “bother them” by saying hello. I have their number but never call.
And my phone never rings either.
But I know it is my fault now.