To The Woman He Loves Now: I’m Sorry I Blamed You

beautiful woman staring at camera
Alesia Kazantceva

I should apologize. You were never the problem, he was. But I blamed you.

I blamed you for accepting the love that I so desperately wanted him to give to me. I told myself that somehow I was better for him, better than you. I told myself lies. Small things to get me past the tightness in my chest.

I told myself that I could not cut my hair because then I would look like you. How dare I think that looking more like you is anything but a gift? How dare I compare myself to you at all?

I told myself lies, trash like how you were probably didn’t have the right taste in music; that you’d never love pop-punk the way we did. That you would never ride in his 4Runner with the warm breeze kissing your cheeks, and melodramatic punk filling your lungs.

But I have heard your voice and it is every bit as sweet and silky as honey. This is what gave me permission to deem you as lesser, when really, I knew that you seemed so soft. Your eyes bleed with kindness and your curls fluffed by the breeze.

You are everything that he does not deserve. I am sorry that I ever thought that wasn’t true.

I hope you remind him how lucky he is to have you. To have warm arms to hold him and a smile to tend to the mangled insides. I hope that he gives all of the good that he gave me and never thinks to give you any of the bad. I hope that every time that you see him he brushes the hair from your face, delicately placing the strands behind your peach ears, and tells you that you are his favorite thing. And I hope it stays that warm forever.

I know how it can feel and you deserve nothing less than that. To feel alive, free, and loved. To be able to crawl into comfort without fear or mistrust. To allows his ribs to pull over yours and fall into peaceful sleep. I will tell you that he is selfish, but I hope he pulls that out from behind his sternum and tosses every ounce of selfishness away when he looks at you.

But if he doesn’t:

If he doesn’t, please know that you matter. He does not make you. You make him. If he chooses yet again to walk away from a woman that is filled to the brim with good, know that is because he has pieces inside him that cannot be glued back together by anyone’s hands but his own.

You may try to tape the shards, but he needs glue that you do not have. It is not your responsibility to grind your bones to make that glue for him. It has to be his choice to turn the dusty innards he carries around into the beautiful creature he could be. And he could. And I hope he does.

You have earned the full galaxy of him. Every star and constellation should be designed to make you feel eternal.

I am sorry I blamed my brokenness on you, but I hope that you can forgive me. I will try to cut out the bitterness, so I can allow room for flowers to grow. Picking the most beautiful ones to the women I love, and the women I have yet to love.
I promise to save the pinkest bloom for you, and I hope you’ll accept it. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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