What. The heck.

I hate late night thoughts of my mind rambling and rambling on and on about you. I hate that you would fall for such a piece of scum like her – fake tan, false eyelashes, clearly not a country girl like you’ve always wanted. She’s a liar and a fake and pretending she likes the things you do so that you’ll like her. And the fact that you hardly tell me anything about her is ridiculous. You’re not her best friend. You’re MY best friend. It’s me. The girl who left the concert to come back and make sure you were okay. The girl who stopped you from crying and cuddled you to sleep. The girl who spent endless hours watching the most meaningless Netflix horror movies just so she’d feel your body next to her. The girl who got drunk for the first time in your room off of cheap vodka, and who managed to stay sane enough to keep her mouth shut about loving you. The girl who texted you throughout the entire summer. The girl who helped you write papers and drove you around and bought you fast food when you wanted it because she thought maybe, just maybe, you’d return the favor somehow. The girl who left her own bed at 4 am to come spend the night with you. I don’t know why you can’t see it. You need to. Because I love you and I will never stop loving you because you get my hopes up time and time and time again.

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