You. Me. She.
I. We. She.
She is the only thing constant in this relationship, isn’t she? You and me, we’re just variables. Even when it’s about us, she takes predominance and precedence as the first person and we’re pushed into the third person. But that’s just how it is, isn’t it? It’s never going to be about us. It will, and always be, she and you. She’s always going to be the one. And I with be the other woman.
But ‘we’ happened. Deny it all you want. But we still happened. We weren’t supposed to, but since when do we go by the supposed to’s? Supposed. Suppose. A hypothesis. But we were real. A fact. History recorded. So all the pain I’m left with isn’t a theory. Nor is it imagined. It does not get less legitimate in the jurisdiction of all factual events. I’m entitled to this hurt. It holds valid.
“Do you love me?” “You know I can’t answer that.” “It’s a straight, honest question, isn’t it? Do you love me? Can’t you dignify it with a straight, honest answer?” “Sigh! Why don’t you just get it, woman? Why do you have to complicate things so? You knew what you were getting into. She was first. Before you. As much as I want to, I cannot change that. I can’t possibly hurt her, can I? And what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, can it? You won’t tell her, will you? If you do, it’ll make her terribly sad. I’ll lose all I have that I call my own. How can you possibly be that selfish? Now why are you crying? You’re saying all this is my fault then? You didn’t seem to want it any less then. Now two years later, you’re acting so strange. You knew I was committed. But when you came into my life, I couldn’t help myself. Mistakes happen. No. I’m not calling you a mistake. Please be okay. Oh god! Please don’t cry. Please. I’m not calling you a mistake. It’s a huge mistake that we can’t be together. It’s a huge mistake we ever happened. But now that it has, I need you. But I can’t be with you. No, I can’t let go of you either. No, I won’t. How can you possibly do this to me? You have to be my good friend, someone I can always call. But I can’t give you me. Why are you complicating things so? Can’t we just let it be? Stop crying please. Or I’ll leave now. God, stop crying dammit. Fuck! My head’s about to burst. Stop it. Please. I can’t take this. Please. You know you mean a lot to me. Please. But I can’t be with you. I must marry her. I must be with her. I want to be. I don’t know. I must. God, my head is breaking. Must you be this difficult?”
Me in the mirror: You know you’re pathetic, don’t you?
Me on the outside: (Mumbling) “Yes, I do!”
Me in the mirror: Did you just admit to that? God you’re worse that pathetic, you know! You’re so far gone. (Mockingly mimicking) “Yes, I do!” Indeed!”
Me on the outside: (Begins to cry piteously)
Me in the mirror: “Stop crying, you wimp!”
Me on the outside: (Blubbering) “But I love him so much”
Me in the mirror: (Disgustedly) “You go cheap, don’t you? God! Don’t you have any self respect?”
Me on the outside: (Crying) “What’s with you? You want to kick me when I’m down? Is that it?”
Me in the mirror: (Softly) “You call yourself the other woman. Why would you do that? Get up, girl! You had nothing to lose. You aren’t the low life here. There are rules to this game, you know! You need to know that before you go baiting someone’s man.”
Me on the outside: (Interrupting) “But I wasn’t baiting. He came to me.”
Me in the mirror: “Yes! Yes! I know! The typical one thing lead to another. Yada yada. But Rule No.1 is never fall in love with somebody else’s man. Take him. Use him. Leave him. He’s nothing more than a condom. Now, who gets sentimental about a condom?”
Me on the outside: (Horrified) How can you call him that? He’s more than that. He’s a good person, and wonderful and kind….
Me in the mirror: (interrupting): “..And, yes… That’s why the two of you have first class tickets to the sunset, I suppose? My child, Someone gets used here. You or him. Your choice you gets to be the condom. No sense in turning a feel-good exercise into a crash course in self-loathing. So you are desirable! Great. Wow! Good for you. Believe me, a man like that isn’t a keeper. He’ll never know happiness if it spread its legs in front of him.”
Me on the outside: “Ugh!”
Me in the mirror: “Oh, now you want to go prude on me? You’re welcome to your heartache, Miss Prim, I’m-just-a-piece-of-flesh! Sit and cry for your douche bag for all I care. But I’m telling you, you need to get your lovely ass moving. There’s greatness to be achieved in this time you waste moping around. Look at you wasting your lovely but inevitably disappearing desirableness on this loser. Move on. Move on. Get your groove back on girl! Break some hearts, already?
Me on the outside: (Hint of a smile) “Thanks, I needed that. I try to tell myself this but I never listen you know.”
Me in the mirror: “Well I’m going nowhere. You know where to find me when you need some sense knocked into your head.”
Me on the outside: “Hey babe..we never got to rule no. 2.”
Me in the mirror: “Rule No. 2? I thought you’d never ask. There’s nothing much to Rule No.2. Show us some love, lady? Lean over and give us a kiss, hmmmm?”
Me on the outside: (To herself) “And just like that, as I leaned over to kiss my reflection, I learnt to love the person in the mirror before anything else.”