This is how it feels to be cheated on. Your whole damn world, your happiness, the thing (person) getting you through life being ripped away. Sick. Physically sick.
So I guess now I’m grieving, because it’s like you’ve died to me. I instinctively hold onto the guy you once were, but you aren’t the same person from the good memories any longer.
I looked it up, and I have tasted every kind of M&M that is currently in available in the U.S. (I don’t know whether to be proud, or ashamed. Let’s just chalk it all up for the sake of research and call it a day.)
Finally, when you stop checking your phone every two minutes, expecting their name to pop up on your cracked screen, that’s when you get the text. Just when you start to feel free, comfortably alone in your bed, they rope you back in.
Considering most of us freckled people fall somewhere between “pale” to “ghostly” on the tan-ness spectrum, the inability to get a fake tan is somewhat problematic.