You are another woman’s man.
This is of utmost importance.
No matter the depth of my feelings, no matter the tug at my heart, no matter the silly faces you make that get me to laugh without trying—the simple fact that you are loved by someone else is the most important thing.
I believe in love.
I always will.
I think love is involuntary sometimes, that you just meet someone or see someone cast in a new light, and you can’t help it—something about the way they smile or laugh or look at you, or maybe not even look at you but look at life—just makes you start to fall.
It was like that for you, I guess. Maybe proximity, maybe chance, maybe weird fate that now I’m forced to fight against.
But I won’t be that woman. The woman that breaks hearts just to appease her own.
I see the way she looks at you, the way you look at her when I’m not looking. I don’t know if what you share is love, but truthfully, I don’t deserve to know. What matters is if she can make you happy. Even if I believe I could make you happier, it doesn’t matter. Because you’re content with her. You’re smiling, you’re laughing, you’re living a good life. And I can’t, I won’t interfere.
I’m not a girl that crosses boundaries.
What’s hers is hers. What’s mine is mine, and I won’t fight to get something I don’t own. Not when it’s already someone else’s, wrapped up in their arms, their touch, their kiss.
I won’t be selfish.
I won’t be greedy.
I won’t try to take you away just because I want to love you. Because truly loving you means letting you be in love, even if it’s not with me.
I’m not bitter. Of course if I could change things, I would. But I can’t. And that’s okay.
For now I’ll smile, I’ll laugh, I’ll listen. I’ll be there for you when you need me, pick up the phone when you call. I’ll be everything I’m supposed to be—your friend and nothing more.