I made room for her.

Cleared a space at the table

with trembling hands

and a heart I swore

was brave enough

for all of us.

I said,

_“Talk to her.”_

_“Feel with her.”_

_“If it’s there, chase it.”_

And God—

I meant it.

I meant it even when it choked me.

I thought I was being strong.

Thought love meant letting him bloom,

even if I wilted a little

in the shadow

of what they used to be.

She was an old friend.

Long before I ever touched his hands,

she touched his heart

with innocence, with history—

and some part of him

never let go.

They talked about feelings.

I watched it unfold like a slow death.

And I told myself—

You asked for this. You opened the door.

But I didn’t know

I’d be the one

locked out.

Didn’t know “exploration”

would sound like

“I love you.”

And that he’d say it back

like it had always been

a truth just waiting

for the right moment

to stop hiding.

What am I then?

A phase?

A pause between chapters?

The body he held

while running from the truth

he didn’t want to name.

I feel stupid.

God, I feel so fucking stupid.

Like I handed him the match

and now I’m shocked

that I’m burning.

But I wanted him happy.

Didn’t I?

Didn’t I say that again and again—

until my own needs

sounded selfish

in my own ears?

He tells me,

“She’s not you.”

He tells me,

“I need you.”

But love—

real love—

isn’t about needing

someone to catch you

when you fall for someone else.

It’s about staying

when the room starts to shake.

About choosing the person

who chose you first.

And maybe he did.

Maybe he still does.

But there’s a girl

who’s known him since they were kids,

who says I love you

and means it in ways

I haven’t had time

to compete with.

Because how do you compete

with history?

How do you stand tall

next to someone

who knew his voice

before it dropped?

I feel her

in all the empty spaces now.

In the pauses.

The unsaid.

The way he looks at his phone

just a little too long.

I made room for her.

And now

she’s taken up residence

in the corners of him

I thought were mine.

And me?

I’m still here—

loving him

through the bleeding,

saying

“It’s okay, baby. I want you happy.”

even as

I fall apart

in silence.