Me and You and Her
I wish I could rid myself of the parts of me that beg for
understanding. The parts of me that desire an answer to the
question, why did you choose her over me? Because there is no real
answer. It was never about me. You simply choose to be with her.
I was an innocent casualty. But knowing this does not change
the fact that every time I picture you together, I wonder why
it’s her instead of me. And when I imagine you kissing her lips,
and touching her face, and lying in bed beside her at night,
I wonder why it’s her instead of me.
When I think of the moment you choose to spend the rest of
your life with her instead of me, I can’t help but analyze my
components, piece by piece, in an attempt to figure out which
fault of mine led you to that choice.
But what I always fail to remember is that you choosing to be
with her says so much more of you than it does of me.