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Gummy Worms and Pokemon Cards.
Astonishment. Fear. Betrayal. Confusion. Guilt. Denial.
 
 I read over the words on the screen.  
 
 "...separate ways...just friends...we had a great run...not you, it's me..."
 
 I flip my phone shut without thinking.  I dare not read the end.  I look at my lamp.  My cork board.  My feet.  Anything but the end.
 
 GAH, what was I thinking?!  I must have looked so stupid next to him.  So out of my league.  I didn't even get something human.  I got the friggin' "it's not you, it's me."
 
 Tears well up in my eyes.  Let 'em run.  Let them stream down my face and drop onto my phone.  Stupid camera-less, keyboard-less, 7-contact, Forrest Gump phone.  Let them drop and erase its memory.  Erase the text that ruined my social life, my day, my week, my mascara.
 
 Just when I reach the climax of my self-pity wallow party, my little Forrest Gump vibrates, as if to say, "Um, hello? I'm right here."
 
 Stupid selfish self-absorbed phone.
 
 I stare for a minute at the pixels magnified by my gray waterfall.  Dazed by sadness, laziness, and just lack of caring.  I feel numbed, and it's not because it's the first December snow.  I feel as if my muscles have turned to cotton.  And I sit on the shelf, like a ragdoll long forgotten.  That's all I am apparently, just a childish plaything he got tired of.
 
 Forrest Gump shakes in my hand again, stirring me awake from my reverie.  I sniff irritatedly at my congestion.  "ABBY" it reads. I flip it open and push the ginormous buttons meant for senior citizens who can barely open their eyes.
 
 "Hey!  Meet me @ the frnt of da skool.  Football games is @ 6. I got da gummi worms ;P
 
 ~Abby<3"
 
 Abby Greensdale. First grade. Sharing gummy worms on the bus. Pokemon cards. Stuffed dinosaurs. Dress-up. Chasing prissy Kylie Thompson with a bug. She beat up Robbie Nicholson for me. He pulled my pigtails. She punched his gut.
 
 I giggle to myself as all thoughts of my quarter-life-crisis melt away.  A sit and reminisce about the days of past.  The days were guys were contagious to the touch and all things pinky-sworn were set in stone.  I throw Forrest Gump deep into my sheets and reach for my keys.  I smile as I brace my self for a desperately-needed dose of vitamin Abby.

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Why I am here, I know not; where I shall go, it is useless to enquire. In the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, and infinity why should I be anxious of an atom?<br /> -Lord Byron