Kiss me again, and ease my s-s-s-sufferin’.

Just hearing you say those words made my stomach lurch. “That was our thing. He never did that before me; I introduced that to him.”
Hearing you say them again made me taste bile.
And when you said them a third time, I felt for sure like I was going to throw up.
Is nothing that he’s said to me special? Was everything said to you, discarded, picked up from the trash heap, and flung back at me? Is the only reason he likes me, because I remind him of you?
It made me so happy when I found out he liked me. So ethereally happy.
But now I just feel fucking sick.