If you stop and think and wonder where you are
Look up, at me. I can’t be very far.
Big and bright, just like you created.
I’m looking at pictures of her and me together and I almost don’t recognize them.
I see me but I wonder how I was so secure at the time.
It’s like I never really truly looked at her. I was always looking away. My attention was focused elsewhere while hers was focused on me.
Now it’s changed.
There’s a brand new attention.
I am focused on her. She got my attention. Which indicates to me that I’ve probably lost her attention.
Or at least it feels that way.
She’s fucking my best friend. I found out two weeks ago.
Over drinks she told me there was something there with him. And I dug deeper.
I flipped out on her when she told me. And later flipped out on my best friend.
It tore me apart, even though her and I had been broken up for a few months.
The relationship had been an interesting one. But typical for me to be honest.
She was focused on me. She wanted me. Entirely. Waiting for my every move.
If I wanted to hang out with her more, she would do it. The converse wasn’t true. Somehow she always slightly over-stayed her welcome.
I loved things about her as a person. She understood me. She was there for me. She motivated me. She supported me.
She was very attractive and extremely fuckable. I liked having her.
But there was always something missing. Like what we had wasn’t enough. And I always knew it.
After we broke up, I missed her. I wasn’t over her. It took me a long time.
I even used the premise of friendship to see her again.
Now, it’s different. It’s a missing her where she is idealized. She is no longer just her. She is an icon, a symbol.
Much larger than life.
I see flashes of her in my mind when I miss her. And at the moments that it catches me most unaware, I see a different woman.
A woman who hurt me years ago. My first girlfriend when I was 18.
She tore me apart. Left me bleeding. Even though I was the one who left her.
It is the injured animal that is most dangerous. A woman scorned.
Leaves you for your best friend. Triples the pain. Infects the wounds. Treats you like you deserve something.
When things change, a woman’s love can turn around. In an instant. Or in a lifetime.
And while you’re with her you know that it can change. Perhaps you’ve even experienced that change before.
But the completed heart can’t visualize the position of the other.
It is impossible to see/hear/smell/taste the position of wanting.
From the moment autonomy is gained, there is no looking back. Until the tables are turned once again.
I welcome the pain. And part of me laughs, glad that she has won.
For it is the one who is left in longing that gets to do what is at the heart of what all us humans long for: to feel.
How fragile that zone is. How easy it is to get knocked out of it.
I soak it up and feel all of it.
It comes and goes in waves.
Logically I know I will eventually get over her. Time will heal this.
But when I do feel it, it feels like eternity, like it will never go.
Some trick my heart plays on me.
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