Straightline People always say that they hate goodbyes; they say leaving someone behind is too sad. But I guess I'm different. I love it when people cry over me. She left without saying goodbye. I felt betrayed, in a way. Angry that she'd just leave like that, and angry that I'd just let her go. And hurt: my shoulder blades ached from the oh-so-sweet sensation of being stabbed in the back. At the same time, I felt a fleeting swoop of joy. This is what I wanted: proof that I was living in the past. That I really didn't stand a chance. She'd trace her pretty, torn-up nails across my throat and we'd both agree: "I don't love you anymore." I'd drink her forgotten tears and she'd bite my Cheshire smile. And my wild imaginings would disappear. Maybe I'd fall asleep at
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