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Had
You know I used to write poetry about how the sun glowed a pon your hair, about strangers you fall in love with, about the prettiest boy in class, about how unfortunately irregardless of our  actions  the time will pass. I had a little crush on you. You definitely knew but I pretended that you didn't so  I could keep my hopes up about you. About us someday hiking up a trail, waking up in the same bed, You picking up our mail, You picking up the kids, Us painting our home’s walls. I used to have a crush on you but the kind that in love falls , the kind that always calls with good and bad news, the kind you can't forget even if somebody else you try and choose. I had a crush on you, If had was present tense because honestly i know that i haven't liked anybody else since, since we were last together and you stood next to me and told me i looked pretty, the type of warmth even you couldn't understand,  my diary consists of poetry that immortalizes You in every line.
Hey, Mom, how are you today? Are you still mad? Is it okay to talk to you about how I need help with school? Is it okay if you don't bring old things up and use it against me as a form of embarrassment? Could you not tell me that I'm a burden and that no one will love me? Is that too much of me to ask?  It's really hurting me, hey, Mom? i don't feel well anymore, I'm feeling kinda sad "its because of that **** phone. " but I haven't had my phone remember you took it because I was still asleep "you're grades are horrible"  I've asked you for help. "you're failing at life" oh okay " I'm gonna take the kids and leave without you" but you told me you loved me and how you'd never stop "three more years of your bs and you don't have to be my problem anymore" I know. I've been saving up for an apartment. "I never wanted you." I didn't ask to be born when you were still in high school. ..."deadname! get your 4ss down here!" "deadname?"
“‘Till death do us part,”’ but is this really how our story goes? “‘Do you __ promise to love and cherish _  for poorer for richer in sickness and in health?”’ I don't want this to be the way our story goes. Do we have to put a bidding law on our love? Why couldn't it just be the love and loyalty promised without the countless arguments, lies, and countless nights I spent waiting for you to come home? You indeed came home. Came home at last, but you stabbed me in the back, immortal I am. Immortal I was, the immortality you lacked

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