“You want me,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“A lot.”
“Like air,” he says.
My lips curve, sad and rueful and bittersweet. “Nobody wants air.”
“They need it.”
“You don’t need me.” He walked away. He stayed away.
“Like air,” he says again with a note of finality. 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩
— Jan 30, 2026 01:37PM
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