“Claire told me.”

For the first time, today, you mentioned her name. Who is this girl? Yes, it got me anxious. More anxious than I should be.

“Claire came over today. She got me lunch.”

“Ahh, that’s so sweet of her!” Well, I can too.

Once, twice, thrice, and more. Her name started appearing more frequently in our conversations, and honestly, I didn’t like it. I hated it. Stop talking about her, I don’t want to know.

“So what did she bring you this time?” 

“Steak and baked potatoes. I love steak.”

It killed me to see his eyes beaming. It was like I was having a physical battle in my mind. My inner bitch starts to curse at her, while I continue smiling at him.

As he continued to speak of her, I could feel it. He reminded me of someone. Me. He reminded me of myself. When I speak about him to my friends, this is how I look. My eyes shine, my lips can barely not break into a smile, and sometimes I get too excited. Because of him. And now him, because of Claire. Because of that girl. No.

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