subject line: timing is a bitch.

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woodstock, georgia

I slapped you in the face the night before, because I was drunk and you had been mean to me.

You were my constant friend for years. I’d seen you through so much and you returned the favor. Relationships, death, jobs, travel. We’d meet every couple of months and just catch up. Never spoken, always assumed, you were my person.

The next day we met because you wanted to clear the air, “I’ve always liked you, if things were different I would want to date you.”

I looked at you as we walked, the words tasting bitter as I said them “I think we’d make a terrible couple.”