It used to be long nights talking to you even though you were the poison destroying my veins.
It used to be blue Christmas light my mom bought me in the background of shitty selfies I put makeup on for at midnight.
It used to be hiding arms
and hips
and thighs.
It used to be.
Now it's craving cigarettes, and alcohol, and the sweet taste of silence.
Now it's not giving a fuck, but caring a shit ton all at the same time about anything and everything that people might think about you.
Now it's memories
and deep sighs
and waiting for the world to stop.
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