He’s always there, lurking just behind your smile. Every time you look at me or laugh at me or even send me a text message, I can tell that you’re holding something back. Until now, I didn’t realize it was a broken heart.
To be completely honest, I don’t even know what he did to you because you never told me. I was left me piecing together the details using Instagram and Facebook like a creepy 2016 Nancy Drew. I’m not going to pretend that doing this doesn’t make me feel a little crazy, but I like to think it’s something we’re all guilty of.
It’s sad because I’ve only known you for a couple weeks, and I could have sworn that “we” had the potential to turn into something amazing. I still hope this is only the beginning, but I’d be foolish to believe that I could fix you when you’re in pain, when you feel incomplete and I’m not the missing piece.
We both need recognize that I’m not him. I didn’t spend the last two years with you. I didn’t dress up with you for Halloween (for the record, your couple costume was subpar). I didn’t wear flannel with you on Christmas or get close to your mother. I didn’t tell you that I loved you more than I could explain. I didn’t destroy you either. That was all him.
Just to be clear, I see the similarities and don’t want to be his replacement. I really hope that’s not what you’re trying to do, even subconsciously. We might both be goofy, shorter than you, and cute in the way that complements your model-good looks, but that’s where the comparisons should end. If you get to know me, really know me, you’ll see that I’m unlike anyone you’ve ever met.
I could be patient, and you could be honest; together we could help you heal and maybe even build something of our own. I hope you take that chance with me.
If my hand is in your hand, I want you to know it’s mine and not wish it were someone else’s. I don’t expect you to forget what his touch felt like, but I hope you trust that even if I squeeze you tight, I’ll be gentle with your heart.