Who gave you the right to read me like a book

All I gave you was a story I wrote

Who gave you the right to include those details

Details that mean nothing but everything just by being there

Who gave you the right to say such entrancing things

The words “magic” and “adventure” were never meant to be texted so genuinely

Who gave you the right to ruin my day, my week, my summer

What do I do now?

Who gave you the right to keep starting conversations

I always feel so guilty, talking for 10 minutes straight

Who gave you the right to make me feel included

I was prepared to spend the semester with one friend and a bundle of books

Who gave you the right to make me feel seen

Why did it take so long

Who gave you the right to leave

What do I do now?