poofy towards the ends. I tied it back in a low bun and pulled out some baby hairs to cover my cheeks that are just a little too big. I put on a white tank top and blue flowy shorts and painted my eyelashes black with mascara. When you picked me up, the first thing you pointed out was my mascara. You didn’t like it. You don’t like it when girls wear makeup, so I didn’t wear it again with you around. We kissed in the playhouse. We watched the stars on the golf course. I saw my first shooting star with you. You put your gold chain around my neck, and I gave you a charm with the first letter of my name to put on your silver chain. We always wore them. You met my family. My mom. My dad. My sisters. My grandfather. They liked you. You talked to them like you cared. When I was ready to leave, you stayed so you could hear the end of my grandfather’s story about growing up in Little Compton and being a lifeguard during the summers in the 1940s. You stayed to hear my mom talk about her job in Africa. You stayed to hear about my little sister’s boy drama. You stayed to see my “happy family.” I met your parents and your sister. It was weird; your parents didn’t speak to one another. I understood then what you meant about your parents’ relationship. We spent the night together in Swansea. We still wore our chains. You didn’t want to hang out, or when I asked you said you were too busy. But you still wore your chain. I could still see it sparkling in the sun while you sat on the lifeguard chair. Every day I would walk across the beach and try to get you to notice me; you didn’t. But you would Snapchat me later making conversations regarding superficial bullshit. Three weeks passed since we spent the night together. I saw you at a party at the beach. I was having a bonfire with a group I introduced you to; you showed up uninvited. You sat down without acknowledging me. We faced each other on opposite sides of the fire. They all thought we were together. They knew what I thought about you, how much I liked you. But you didn’t talk to me that night. You just looked at the fire, while I looked at you. Somebody said you were my boyfriend. Then another asked if we were dating; we both looked at each other not knowing what to say. Later that night, I pulled you aside and asked, “What are we?” You said you “enjoyed hanging out with me and my homies.” I wanted to understand. I didn’t know what was happening, what we were, what I did wrong. Our night together in Swansea meant something to me, and you knew that. I waited for your shift to end the day after the beach party. You said you didn’t want to hurt me. You didn’t want to hurt me like she hurt you. You took off your chain, but I didn’t. You said you didn’t want a relationship, so I said I didn’t want one either. You asked for your chain back. I saw someone else. I don’t know if I did it because I liked him or because I wanted to hurt you. You told me we weren’t exclusive, even when we were together, but I hoped you would care. You didn’t. I saw your post. So did my friends. They sent it to me asking what was going on, but I was asking myself the same question. They say she looks like me. She wears mascara and your gold chain.
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