p.161

your bruised ago smells a lot like
alcohol.
and you mistake it for a broken heart
when it’s four in the morning and I
can’t have the alcohol staining my
new dress from a thousand miles
away, so hang up the phone. so go
to sleep. so stop pretending it’s love.

you only decided you wanted me when
you thought that he had me,
you only decided you wanted me when
you found me like a love letter at
the bottom of the bottle.
but what about the real love letters
I wrote you?
those weren’t enough if they didn’t
hurt?

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