Step On Your Toes

I slipped a scrap of paper into Rita's palm and made my way out, quick on the getaway. I went as she fussed with her lip balm.
She called me up when two days had passed and explained just who she was. A wave of guilt hit my pulse and the reason, it was because I didn't mean to step on your toes. I didn't know she was once with you. It must have seemed phony, my scripted, calculated pose, like some horribly articulate dancer accepting a Tony.
I'd written it out, just three lines, only meant to flatter. It was something canned, something about her eyes. I hope you'll say it doesn't matter, 'cause I didn't mean to step on your toes. I didn't know she was once with you. It must have seemed phony, my scripted, calculated pose. I didn't know who I was talking to; I was just lonely.
What to do when I find out my friend has just shrunk down to one from two yet I was blind to the other number? Yes, I know I stepped in, heaving over a note as if something just might begin, though that was not what I intended. I endeavored to say that the way that she looked was near perfect that lonely day, but all I wanted was just to tell her so.
I didn't mean to step on your toes. I didn't know she was once with you. It must have seemed phony, my scripted, calculated pose. Dear friend, I want to hand back to you this feeling you loaned me; this verbal return, more direct than a note, i hope will atone me.