I Need to Accept I’ll Never Be Your Number One

We’re worlds and lives apart.

Jillian Spiridon


Photo by Eugene Lisyuk: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-woman-in-purple-top-blowing-bubbles-from-a-toy-6487627/

Hi, it’s me.

You almost forgot about me, didn’t you? The weeks go by, the seasons shift, and soon we’re wishing each other well on our tiny screens. It’s been like that for a while, but I can’t ask for anything more, can I?

I know you’re still thinking about her. I don’t need to see your face to know the pain is still fresh, the hurt ripe for deconstruction, but you’ve never been the type to reveal all your scars. Every little thing I knew had to be pried from your closed-off gateway of a mind.

I wish I had the guts to call you a coward. Instead, I’ll let my silence fill in the gaps. You’re smart enough to realize when you’ve stepped on one too many hearts. Or are you really that oblivious? Did I give you too much credit all this time?

And did you ever realize I was hurting just as much?

I offered you a piece of me, and you pretended I’d never even said a word. You were so casually cruel — as if you were better, as if you were saner, as if you were stronger. But maybe you fooled yourself for too long.

Instead, I see someone who’s afraid to let love knock on your door. You talk big about wanting to open yourself up to someone — but have you ever done it? Or did you just think you could skate by with weak attempts at affection and closeness?

You don’t need to answer. I’ve been a quick study in the type of person you are. You may step out of line, but there’s always another one to replace you. You’re not unique in your brand of issues.

You can say I’m just spewing the contents of my diary out into the open, but don’t believe for one second that you’re blameless. This heart of mine was yours to take, but instead all you did was leave a bruise that refuses to go away.

I’m not entitled to your love, I know — but I do owe myself a healthy dose of self-respect. Did you think you were the one walking away? Well, fine then. I’m going to the train station to take the next ride out to a getaway far, far from where you’d ever hope to find me.

Keep your regrets. Keep your guilt — if you have any.