S t i c k y S w e e t


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He said he would be back.

He wasn’t.

The last I saw of him was whirl of lavender and destroyed denim jeans.

He told me it was for the best, and that we would stay friends, as he gripped his “THANK YOU” red font plastic bag in one hand and a flask in the other.

He said it as if we would, laughing at each others jokes, lowkey flirting, and laying out in a sprinkle of bright yellow dandelions on a sticky sweet spring-summer day in polo shirts and  striped crew socks , the humidity growing, him grazing my body, lifting my skirt higher and chuckling as I stuck the yellow flowers in his dirty blonde hair.

   It wasn’t like that and I don’t even know why I would ever think it would be, my mind was far from reality, thinking he was gonna actually see me go far with him.

I wish it was that way, saturated in pure love and promiscuality, but from the way he treats me now, i’m a lot more than just doubtful.

Im nothing more than a slight peel of wallpaper in a poorly lit hallway, un-noticed until found and seen on as nothing but a bothering nuisance that can’t be fixed without destroying the rest.  

The excitement I once had for him in my heart is not even simmering, let alone boiling.
 

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