You tell me all the time you don't mind. You butter me up with all these colourful words, and call it honest. You tell me you're gonna be there through it all and then you throw me a 360 degree mood swing and expect me to be okay with it. What do you take me for? Stupid?
I may regret saying these things, I may not. At least I know that even if I do, it's only because I feel bad. Only because I actually am not heartless.
Don't tell me you care anymore. I'd rather not know.
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