It Was Just a Cup of Coffee

I’m still trying to process

how I could possibly think

that I was cheating on someone that couldn’t even meet for coffee.

For months,

I felt like a liar,

a cheater,

a fake.

All the lips that touched my mouth that weren’t yours

were just keeping me distracted

while I waited for you.

I liked you that much.

And now,

the only thing I have from you are 200 words on a page

telling me that you’re not going to make it for coffee,

because you’re too busy worrying about how I might mess up the plan that you made for your life.

 

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