YOU. the one in the front row, telling me you're my best friend. YOU: the one who blew me off to have sex with the Russian whore, then ignored me for 2 weeks.
YOU. the one who sits slyly by and tells me how attractive I am. YOU: the one who made out with my friend while I was at work and lied about it.
YOU. the one who values me "more than [I] can comprehend". YOU: the one who raped girl-code by making out with my crush.
YOU. the one who has "never told anyone so much in my life". YOU: the one who has earned my trust and love for being real.
YOU. the one who has given me more self-security than I had ever thought possible. YOU: the one who I believe I will be friends with forever.
YOU. the one who is supposed to be a support system, a mentor. YOU: the one who talks about me with EVERYONE ELSE when I'm down the hall.
YOU. the pseudo-artistic one with whom I shared a night of make-out fun. YOU: the one who calls out a good friend for being successful and willing to promote himself tirelessly.
YOU. the one who is immensely talented and truly supportive and endlessly giving. YOU: the one who will be the first person to be my fan.
YOU. my mother. YOU: the one who will love me for always, no matter what I get pierced.
YOU. my sister. YOU: the one who can be counted upon to make silly decisions which will out-silly mine any day of the week.
YOU. my father. YOU: the one who wants to be the supportive daddy after all these years, but can't quite bring himself to admit it.
YOU. me. YOU: the one who has a red-flag policy and sticks to it.
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