I was young then.
young and primarily stupid-
stupid enough to fall for that line you whispered in my ear
as you sank deeper into your pillow
with that almost-sincere look of admiration
that made me feel-
something-
whatever that feeling was
that made me believe I'd swallowed wet cotton.
But I only stared at the ceiling
and repeated it in my head-
what I thought was beautiful
what I thought was true.
"your soul tastes like butterscotch pudding."
No, it doesn't.
Not anymore.
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