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I always wanted a Spanish name sweet enough to push your buttons and alluring enough to make you hard.
The morning I first felt hollow, sitting on my bedroom floor binge eating hotdogs on a rainy Sunday morning and of course, I was dressed in blue... to match my emotions. Your love came in waves, and of course just like a wave... it was empty inside, with a side of nothing but regrets and old mistakes and if only one knew... those were written under my name.
I felt it, creeping in the doors of my bedroom and how come heartbreak invades my home without a box of tissues to wipe off your name on my hands because it seems like they have forgotten to hold anything but your heart without dropping it and not apologizing, I’m afraid.
That not even these sweet Spanish names can put our love as a meal first classified as appetizers and I swear y’all, the first heartbreak felt like an opening window into the factory of love, where every little thing is made under your name and I wanted to try it all... I did.
From hurt to damage to injury to wound... to, you, your name... yet again.
I could taste you in all of them, so did I taste her... and not even a tear dropped from my cheek onto this mess you call guarding my heart...
I knew you loved her, just didn’t have proof.
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