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The Bittersweetness of Moving On
In what world were we meant to be?
I know I shouldn’t be looking your way, but my gaze always snags on you and Candace. It’s as if my eyes are magnets drawn to the pull of the orbit you two share. When you hold hands, I wince. When you lean into each other’s space to share a whispered conversation, I feel my heart shrink a few sizes.
Then I turn away and try to forget you exist.
But this is Asher’s party. They wouldn’t have invited me if they still thought I was hung up on you — and your lovely girlfriend. Oh, just seeing you makes something knot up inside my chest. When it happens, I feel like I’ll never be right again.
What can fix me in the moment? A glass of wine. I tell myself it’s at least a healthier indulgence than a few shots of tequila.
After I’ve poured myself wine, Asher comes up to me to envelop me in a hug. “You doing okay, babe?” they ask as their scent of sandalwood and vanilla makes me squeeze my eyes shut from the comfort of it all. “I was worried about you.”
“Oh, just a long day at work,” I say, laughing it off as they pull away and look at me with eyes that tell me they don’t buy one line of the bullshit I’m trying to sell them.