I’ve decided my computer is an asshole.
Or maybe more accurately, the entire Internet is an asshole.
Facebook likes to remind me of memories from years ago, back when saying your name didn’t feel I’m harboring a secret in my mouth.
Instagram suggests a video, your warm laugh echoing throughout it.
My email account sits with old messages from you, overflowing with love and happiness.
No matter where I look, there are remnants of you. Of us. Pieces of what we were and what we could have been. And all the people who thought we would be the couple that got married and have babies with dimples and green eyes.
And maybe the hardest part, the internet has you. It has you everywhere. But it has you with someone else.
You’re in love again, but it’s not with me.
I bet she’s lovely. I won’t allow my bitter and jealous heart to pick apart a total stranger just because she has something I used to love. She looks pretty and kind. I imagine her hands are softer than mine, probably paints her nails and doesn’t attack her cuticles. Her voice isn’t as loud as mine. People don’t have to remind her to use “an inside voice.”
Is it weird that I think about who she is? About who this new love must be to make you so happy? Maybe.
But everything about you being with someone other than me is weird.
We were supposed to be at the finish line together. I loved you like you were my home. Everything was safer with you by my side.
You have a new home now. And yes, I’m glad you’re happy. Yes, I want nothing but the best for you and the rest of your tomorrows. But that doesn’t change how devastating it is to see you with her.
When I see photos of you with her, I want to chuck every electronic device I have into the ocean. I want to go off the grid, to never need wifi another goddamn day in my life. When I see you looking happy and in love, the way you once looked with me, I want to drown my laptop.
You found love. I get it. But there’s no other way to say this, I’m still hurting over you. You are in the face of every man I have tried with. And I’m still hoping, somewhere, in the end, it will be you and me. Even if that’s just a fantasy.