It's been a week and I still can't sleep. The last encounter I had with you replays in my head over and over. I'm still in awe. What did I ever do to deserve this treatment? A year and 6 months you took from me. You don't even care, do you? Another night balling my eyes out onto this black satin pillow. A place where I use to lay awake and think about our future is now the place where I struggle to piece together what happened. Suddenly this sadness I feel turns into rage. Every gift you've ever given me is in pieces. Every card, every note, and every empty love letter find refuge in this hot pink trash can. The same trash can you use to pick on me for. "What junior has a hot pink garbage can" You'd always tease. I was so intoxicated with the love I thought you had for me. I'm left in this room to cry. You told me only days ago that you wouldn't leave me and that you loved me. All of which means nothing at this point.
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