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You don’t love me. You love the thought of me. You love knowing I’m here, waiting for you. You love knowing that when you and her get into an argument you can go out, get drunk and call me crying and telling me about how you’re done with her and you want to be with me. And somehow, I’m stupid enough to believe it. When all you really want is someone to get in bed with and make you feel better. You don’t love me. You love knowing that I can’t stop loving you.
(via excerptsofstories)
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