sorry, you don't get those things anymore.
you know, those looks i'd give you like you were the best thing.
or my words.
i hope you miss those.
you don't get texts about finding pinatas on sale, or my fingers tracing your eyelids whispering random lines of french poetry.
no more souvenirs from the beach, or any place i go from here on out,
and no turning towards you when you enter a room like a flower bending to face the sun.
but i'm civil, and i say hi, and i fucking defend your girlfriend, which, gross, so i'd say in terms of generosity that's more than you should expect by far.
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