I broke up with my boyfriend. Don't feel bad for me--I just knew. I felt the tensity between us. It was a quiet break. At his brother's party. We were quietly pouring our drinks at the table. Side by side. And I knew. He just grabbed a cup and left. I felt numb. My heart started to beat. But I knew. I had always known. A few nights before I cried for an unknown reason when I thought of him. Maybe it was because I knew he was gone. It was only one tear, but it gave me a pain in my chest. I had fooled myself into thinking he liked me. It was because of all the times that he tore me away from his sister and her silly tea parties to show me his legos, or his sandbox-war-scene. Or maybe it was the time he made me get off of the cherry tree because of the ants that hardly appeared red. Or maybe it was the time a few years ago when he showed me his new double-ray squirt gun. It sounds stupid--I know. But I don't care. I thought it was love, but it wasn't. I just knew.

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