Four – for the number of revolutions in your perfect, smoothly landed quad salchow. Four – for your fourth National Champion title. Four – for the number of times I said I love you
, to which you replied, laughing: Don't be silly, Evan
. I am tired of you beating me on home ground, no matter how crappy your season. I am tired of you breaking my heart with a laugh whenever I try to tell you how I feel. I am tired of waiting, which is why I'm fucking Scott now. But it's still your face I see whenever I close my eyes.
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