February, I thought we had a deal. Whatever happen to being good to me?
My mind starts wondering into nostalgia. I recall the times a month ago where my head was nuzzled into that boy’s chest while he took a break from cooking us dinner in his kitchen.
Then my mind jolts back. My face starts getting warm with anger and a hit of disappointed when I remember the words told to me, “What gave you that idea?” I can almost hear the scuffing coming out of that mouth.
But yet, at the same time, relief washes over me. No more games, no more wandering, I know now: You are a tool.
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