Her

I want to meet the woman you chose over me.

The woman you left the prospect of us for.

Her.

Go ahead and give her my number, because I want to sit across from the woman that you gambled my heart on, ice melting under whiskey.

Because she must be incredible. She would have to be in order to fill the space I left.

I don’t want to compare myself to her. I don’t want to agonize over the fact that you told me I was everything you wanted while she and I are nothing alike.

I’d have too many questions.

I’d wonder if you told her that her blue eyes made you think of the ocean, when mine only reminded you of swimming pools. I’d wonder if you preferred resting your cheek on top of her head to looking me straight in the eye. I’d wonder if you slept as well in her bed as you did in mine. Just as I’d wonder what you’d trace on her back before she fell asleep if not for my tattoos.

I want to hear her stories. I want to know where she's from and where she's going. I want to know what drew you to her and away from me, like a moth to a flame.

I want to understand the trajectory of our breakdown and why everyone saw it coming but me.

I want to know if she knows how you take your tea, the chorus to your favorite song, or where you were when you first felt your heart break. Because I do.

I want to know if she knows why you lie, where you go when you’re angry, or who you want to be at the end of the day. Because I never did.

If she is going to fill the space I left she needs to know you better than I ever could. She needs to be able to hold you tighter than I ever had the strength to.

I want to know that she loves herself more than the idea of you and that she wont crumble under the pressure of being yours.

I want to know that she’ll handle the fallout with a grace that I wasn’t able to find on my own.

I need to know that she’ll be ok when you decide that she isn’t enough either.

Even though we both know she is. More than.

Because she must be incredible. She would have to be in order to fill the space I left.

And if you didn’t deserve me, you don’t deserve her either.

I want to sit across from the woman you gambled my heart on, ice melting under whiskey, and tell her that she’s not wrong.

She’s not wrong for being the woman you loved next.

She’s not guilty of anything other than carelessly giving her heart to someone that isn’t good enough for her incredible.

She’s not guilty of anything other than giving her trust to someone who should have never known how she takes her tea, the chorus of her favorite song, or where she was the first time she felt her heart break.

I want to thank her for loving you in ways I couldn’t and for being brave enough to be a chapter of your story. As will every woman that follows us until you get it right.

I want to touch my glass to hers, ice melting under whiskey, in celebration of surviving you.

I want to meet the woman you chose over me.

Her.

Because she must be incredible, and women like us thrive better together.