BECOMING THE OTHER WOMAN


Can I just put it out there for you? I was ready to go home with you. To paint it all colors with you. On the floor. On the couch. Bathroom. Kitchen or bed. Hell, wherever we pleased. I just wanted it to be with you. I was willing to make you my mistake. On a normal day, I would never do something that reckless. See the thing is, my inner whore is usually very nicely tucked away. I am conscious of the fact that she exists but that was among the few times I saw her manifest her true colors -magnificent and scary. But mostly magnificent.

I did not care what the following day would turn out to be. Awkward or not. I just wanted you. But that only lasted until you mentioned her. No, wait. It is me who asked about her. Asked if you had a girlfriend. And G, I do not know what answer I expected. I just know that the way you hesitated before responding was all the answers I needed. I knew you were one of those men. Men who have a girl they love but not enough not to cheat on her.

You said that you two had broken up. That you argue a lot. I asked you if you wanted her back. I don’t know what answer I expected. But do you know what I know? That your saying ‘yes’ killed me a million times on the inside. It was like my heart that had been groping through the dark, occasionally stumbling, eventually tripped and fell into a bottomless pit. And a humongous rock followed it behind to crush whatever was left of its carcass. That is what I felt.

G, you were in love with a perfect woman and yet kissing an imperfect one in an open space. What is wrong with you? I thought. I asked you to leave. Even when you tried to stay I pointed you towards the door as if you were dumb. And admit it, you were dumb at that moment. I asked you to leave because I did not want you to hear my heart as it slammed into the ground and shattered. I did not want to look at you and walk right back into your arms -the arms of a liar. I had spent enough time there already.

It did not end there. These things rarely end there. I looked her up on the net. What use is Zuckerberg if he can’t show me what I am up against? And there you were, on her profile picture, the both of you. You looked both happy and relaxed. Probably happier and relaxed than I’d ever seen you before. It was the kind of look I never was able to trigger on your face. I should have known. The distant aspect in you was never about your difficult childhood, but clearly about this woman you were so besotted with.

She was perfect, the girl next to you. Slender, with fragile features, nice hair, and a beautiful smile.  She epitomized the kind of woman every man wants by their side. The way she leaned into you was the way a woman leans into a man she only trusts completely. I saw it in her eyes -that she loved you. It is a thing with women. When they love a man, it is written all over their features. But mostly, their eyes. They carry an unmistakable twinkle in them.

You two were perfection. Not the kind of perfection that makes you aspire to be better. Rather, the one that creates holes in your self-image and sets your feet in a rush to the bathroom to bawl your eyes. And staring at that picture, I do not remember having felt smaller in my entire life. So unfitting. I felt the droop in my smile as I stared at the both of you. I felt the glaring mockery of the pimples on my face. They might have been only three at that moment but staring at Miss American Pie with her flawless face, they sure felt like molehills on my face. I felt stupid for thinking that you might want me for anything serious. I felt many things that day; disposable, dispensable, stupid even.

I felt stupid. Stupid for having become the other woman. Isn’t that the one thing every woman is striving not to become? It was a new low for me. In fact, the lowest I’d ever gone. I really should have asked before doing anything with you. Knowing the thinness of my heart, I should have asked. Dear woman out there, always ask. He may lie about it, but you will get to say you tried. That you did your homework.

G, I never go up against happy near-perfect women. Women without visible flaws. Wait, I never go up against women at all. Because it is either the man wants you enough to choose you or he just doesn’t. With you, I was never able to tell which of the two it was. Whether you were taking your time while choosing me or you just didn’t want me. And that had me stuck in this rut where I wanted to kiss you so bad one minute and slap the hell out of you in the next for a long time. But that night, after seeing that pic, I decided to choose me.

I chose to writhe under another man. At least he wanted me and only me. I may not have been happy like the near-perfect woman by your side, but hey, I was doing right by myself for once. I was being beautifully selfish -a thing I should have done from the start. And boy did I love it! I admit that it hurt every time I thought about you during the next few days. My blood would go pale thinking of the perfect woman to whom I had lost the battle. But here’s what I had forgotten, it is never a battle when it comes to love. It is all choice. And you had chosen her. Why didn’t I choose me sooner?

It hurt like a motherfucker when you did not at least text me after the kiss. You knew how much it meant to me. You should have known. And stupidly, I hoped it’d mean something…anything to you. Where I come from, kisses mean something. Not necessarily forever, but they do mean something. Even an apology. But I guess it didn’t and I’m coming to terms with that. As it turns out, I was never anything to you. And if I was, then you sure never said or acted like it. And that right there hurt, and I am coming to terms with it as well.

The funny thing about it all is that you did not break my heart. I did. You handed me all the tools I needed to break my own heart and then sat back, blew the smoke out of your nostrils and watched me dance to my own madness. You always said I’m a pretty woman to watch so I bet your eyes must have feasted on the site of me bringing my heart down piece by piece.

People, I am coming to terms with the fact that sometimes, hidden feelings should be kept just as they are. Hidden. But the rumble of their cough- hidden feelings- it is loud. Too loud. I know. It calls for attention. It screams for a reprieve. But again, if you have it in you to ignore it for just a little longer, it quietens by itself. Its battery runs out. It fades into nothingness. Trust me, it is better to have an aching heart than a broken one.

And, can I be honest for once? It truly is a weird feeling to look in the mirror and realize that you are solely responsible for the pain in your own eyes. To know that the ache in the eye of your heart is solely your own doing. That all the fingers point towards you. At first, you might find it amusing but then it soon stops and develops into full-blown self-loathing. But, G, I will get through this. You might be my one loose end at the moment but I know that won’t always be the case. Not once this pain is over. It is what I am clinging to. That lame hope of the pain fading into blissful nothingness, my mornings becoming easy and nights even easier. And the memory of that kiss dissolving into a blurry fade.


Remember to laugh louder but love even harder this week!


 

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6 Comments

  1. Melvy
    June 4, 2018 / 7:37 am

    Nice read

    • June 7, 2018 / 6:15 am

      Thank you melvy!❤️ Your comments on this website are making me too happy!

  2. Teryl
    June 4, 2018 / 8:57 am

    My goodness,this is so deep.
    Relatable even.

    God bless your little soul.

    • June 7, 2018 / 6:17 am

      Thank you, Teryl!!!❤️ I have missed your voice around here yawa. The first day I typed the draft of this piece I was literally crying😢 hihihi with my small heart in pieces. Lol

      God bless your little soul as well!

  3. July 18, 2018 / 8:45 am

    I deeply relate to this. One deep truth is “it is better to have an aching heart than a broken one.”

  4. Beryl
    July 18, 2018 / 10:27 am

    This is heavenly my dear. Twas such an awesome read

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