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It’s funny. I have deleted your number so often over the past half of a decade that it is now engrained in my head and on my heart. Those ten digits I couldn’t forget if I tried with all of me. I finally saved you back last month. “Create New Contact.” That’s pretty assuming, Apple. Where is the button for “Create Old Contact of a Boy who has Dominated Your Heart for Years, that You are Temporarily Re-committing to Giving a Chance.” Okay, so it’s a little wordy. I’ll give them that.

But now he is texting me. Same area code. It would be a lie to say my heart didn’t jolt a little every time: but why? The thrill of something new? Or that age-old excitement that came from contact with you. Little words in a blue bubble.

Luckily, he is green. In every sense of the term.