My mistake wasn’t getting involved with you, my mistake was thinking I was special.
I’m not sure if it was anything you really did, but I had myself convinced that you were as involved as I was. Maybe it was the way you held my face when we kissed, or the good morning texts I would wake up to.
It could have had something to do with the way you described me in such detail. Only somebody who loved me would notice the way I play with my rings when I need reassurance, or bite my lip when I don’t know what to say. Somebody who didn’t love me wouldn’t say my eyes were so beautiful they can seek them out, even in a crowded room.
That was just you playing the game you play so well.
I knew you were good too, I had seen you win a…
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