Well worth it

Why do my "Don't ever call me again"s really mean "You better call me right back"? Why can't we mean what we say and say what we mean?

Why are we even mean at all?

Isn't love supposed to be good, fun and wholesome? Well then why do we get the good, the bad and the ugly? The "oh you think you funny." The partial, most times impartial love?

What more can do as women?

At one point it was all too much: "Awww, baby you shouldn't have." Then it becomes never enough: "Damn Linda, you know you should have..."

It's like finding the right book. The book that just speaks to you, underneath copious amounts of dust and minimal fingerprints. The book that turned up in a vintage wholesale store on Main street. The store that you just so happened to stumble upon as you were walking around wasting time until your next appointment.

That book. That find of a book.
That guy. That kind of a guy that has you miserably happy and anxiously angry because he knows that my "Don't ever call me again"s really mean that I want him to blow my inbox up as he calls and calls, as I send to voicemail after voicemail. Only so I could call him back after we both cool down, only to ask "Didn't I say don't call me?" Which is later followed by "I'm sorry" and "I love you too."

You know what I mean?

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