It’s been months, but the pain hasn’t subsided.
I remember the where. I remember the when. But I can’t understand the why.
Or the who.
Of all places, why there? With her?
Seriously? Our place. Our piece of paradise. Forever tainted by the memories of her. And you. Together.
I feel betrayed. Bewildered. Blind-sided. You had your fun. But you only escaped as usual. Because you returned to a firestorm.
After, you promised – you swore – no more secrets. No more lies. Vowed to be upfront. Your vow lasted two weeks.
Little did I realize you were kissing my lips with beautiful, skilled, concocted lies.
Enter a bar band, and a text message. You couldn’t admit, “Yes, I told her my weekend plans and she said ‘Oh, my. I want to go too.’ ” Rather, you borrowed a page from the Dublin Inquiry. Like an anabolic steroid user, you continued to deny, deny, and deny. For nearly a week.
Deep down, I knew the truth. But your confirmation – on the day – was a slap in the face. You claim to love me, yet you chose the girl who’s been in your life for a Minute Rice moment.
You had your fun. Your summer of faux joy. Now, it’s my turn. This isn’t an eye-for-an-eye. This is me, experiencing life as I should have months ago. Without compromising my morals or integrity. My girl scout code. My sorority pledge.
I’m trying to move forward, and I’m trying to forgive. I am.
And I do love you.
But I love me more.