“I think right now isn’t the best time for me to have a girlfriend. I have to focus on myself.”
That was what you said to me.
In the back of my mind, I wondered if that was true, but because you said you loved me, I never gave it that much thought. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, like I always did. I had already let you in too far to start asking you questions now.
I never asked you about your Facebook page. I never asked you about any of your social media, because frankly, I didn’t care. I never asked you about your habits, what you were doing if I couldn’t reach you, or anything like that, because I didn’t think it mattered. I wanted only to be with you–and you said you wanted the same thing.
Until you didn’t.
And I cried.
But I still kept connected. I still kept you in my virtual world. I still let myself think that perhaps God would hear me when I said I need you, that the thought of life without you makes me unable to breathe or see.
And then I saw her start popping up.
She liked one thing first, and then it became more frequent.
She tags you in posts
She comments on things.
I’m not one to let myself be bothered by the things that other women do, but my heart was already bleeding and my brain was already reeling with thoughts that highlighted the worst parts of myself. So I kept looking. I wanted to find out that I wasn’t alone in my misery—that I meant something to you, and that it was a mutual heartbreak. I wanted proof that I was a loss, too. I wanted my brain to be wrong. I kept looking.
I hate myself for looking.
She’s prettier than me. She has a look in her eyes that isn’t to be defeated. She wears a lot of makeup and buys a lot of hair–things I considered doing, but that you told me not to because I was “pretty the way I am naturally.” You told me you hated those things, but she has those things. She wears those things well.
She’s sexy. She’s openly, unabashedly sexy. I was sexy only for you. You told me you liked it that way.
She’s the one that tried; I’m the one that you told not to.
I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at her. I can’t pretend that I’m not in love with you anymore. That would be foolish of me; you know me too well.
I just hope that for you, she is everything that I was not. I hope that she makes you into a better man, and I hope that she brings you joy beyond compare. I hope that she gives and inspires you to give back. I hope that you give her a lot. I hope that you didn’t know what love meant before you met her, and with me you were just testing the waters. I hope that she demands respect, and that you give it unabashedly.
And for you, The One that Stole My Heart: I hope that he fits you well. I hope that you get the same feelings I got when I looked at him. I hope that he makes you feel beautiful. I hope that you don’t use him, and I hope he doesn’t use you. I hope that when you say you love him you mean it with every ounce of your being. And I hope you never have to feel this feeling: the feeling that I get when I notice you noticing him, and when I realize that he probably noticed, too.