I’ve rehearsed what I want – no, need – to say to you. I’ve licked my lips chapped and I’ve twisted the edge of my shirt wrinkled. I’ve put my hair up just to take it down and I’ve applied and reapplied that damn lipstick. And then I’ve wiped it off – you and I both know lipstick was never my thing.

I know what it is I need to tell you, what you need to hear, and I’ve said it to myself thousands of times before this, but my lips part and… nothing but the ghost of words that have long since left. And I licked my sore lips and silence.

I’ve told myself so many times but never once to you, and it is my fault.

And all I want to tell you, is


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