I hate my head. When I rush-write, the words jerk on little knots that I have to stop and smooth and soothe. Goodbye, original word choices that would be good in another context, but not this one, so I'm leaving you for another word choice. (Maybe...maybe we could see each other sometime? There's this really nice hotel...It's difficult, because
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Haha, yeah, I'm in all sorts of denial, right? In one of our final conversations, she informed me that she was speaking to you through instant messenger. I knew this already, because you had told me at the time. But she went on to say that she wouldn't let me take one of her friends (you, apparently) away from her. I was like...um, okay. I wanted her out of my life, but if you wanted to be friends with her, I wasn't going to dictate otherwise.
Her accusation in itself was confusing, but that she also considered you a friend after meeting you only--what? once, twice?--was startling.
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I blame my memory. It's a pretty shady place.
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I can't remember how many times you met her...but she was there the night you, me, Mandy, Jenny, and Amanda were painting our mannequins and watching movies on a laptop in my room.
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