He said he loved me, I said it back. But I didn’t really mean it. He did.

One year later.

He said he hated me, I said it back. This time, I meant it. He didn’t.

Now it is three years, three years after and I am tired. I ask my friend for his number. She says she thinks she might have it. I hold my breath. She has it. I make his number a contact and write every single thing in my head. Hit send.

He says he’s sorry. I say the same. This time, we both mean it.

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