“He’s not happy.”
Most people revel in these words about their exes. Thrilled. Mission accomplished. “Excellent,” tapping fingertips ala Mr. Burns.
Yes, congratulations. Slow sarcastic clap. You slaughtered someone’s heart, and now you want them to continue to bleed. Tell me, what do you do for an encore?
The word “ex” reciprocates. Ergo, if you have an ex – you are one. I’d hate to think there’s a line of men who relish in my screw ups. Throwing Pom-Poms into the air when I fall.
I wish the best for my exes. We didn’t click. They found someone else. It’s like ketchup not meshing with mustard. So, mustard is switched for relish. Sure, ketchup is left out. But at least it’s not ruining mustard’s life when they could be enjoying it with relish.
However, what if you slaughtered someone’s heart when you were young and angry. And you truly didn’t want the bleeding to continue. Then you learn – years later – your ex isn’t happy.
You’d think I’d say, “Oh, really? Hey, pass the salt.” But my friends know I don’t use salt.
It hurts to hear those words, “He’s not happy.”
You make your own decisions in life. Some you’ll regret, and some you’ll never forget. I obviously can’t control his happiness. I’m not the happiness guru.
I’d love to try, though. Send him stupid memes. Or pointless texts. Or show up at his door riding a unicorn and throwing sprinkles in the air. But I have yet to see a unicorn this year.
Or visit him and say, “She’s out there. Be patient.” Then serenade him with an off-key rendition of “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses. Just to make him smile – because it’s radiant. And to hear his laugh – because it’s infectious. But I can’t.
I know his soulmate’s waiting for him. And when he finds her, I’ll be happy. As difficult as it’ll be – I’ll honestly be happy. Because he’s happy.
Even though I’m the ketchup.