I have been stalking you for quite some time now.
My fingers have memorized each letter of your name out of habit.
I have picked up tiny bits and pieces of you as if those are clues and trails of your character.
And somehow, I feel like I already know you. 
​Just so you know, I have examined you carefully–

       Your aversion to rule of thirds,

       Your tendency to elongate syllables to convey your emotion (for example, beeeeeaautiful and loveeee),

       Your annoying overuse of ellipses, misspelled words, and heart emojis,

       Your penchant for captioning trivial things like cities, food, and (of all silly hashtags—) snow,

       Your weird combination of an unstylish belt and an unflattering dress,

       Your habit of tying your long black wavy hair to show your widow’s peak,

       Your unsymmetrical face that gets emphasized every time your mouth breaks for a smile…

It was soothing to scrutinize your minuscule flaws.

 

You see, I tried to understand you.
Photo by photo, even the ones that had him,
       (even the ones where he had his beautiful eyes locked on yours)
       (even the ones where he had to kiss you)
       even the ones that got me numb.
I skimmed your posts like they are your skin and soul.
And I wondered what it is with you? What did he find in you? Why did he fall for you?
It stings deep inside as I unveil your mystery.
But I continue with this ridiculous routine: 
zoom in,
take screenshots,
and laugh at the horror of how the two of you do not fit well
together.

I have nothing against you.
I had him before you did.
I had him even after you did.
Maybe your sheets have heard him whisper my name,
Maybe he meant it when he told me “I miss you” four days before he wrapped his arms around you again,
Maybe he remembered me during those days when you watched sunsets together.
Or maybe his powerful “I love you” had no meaning,
Or maybe he finally found something in you that wasn’t in me,
Or maybe we are just both trapped in his fleeting passion.

I forgive you, for you do not even know that I exist in his world.
But I cannot forgive myself for loving him again and again,
even if it entails pretending that I do not know
that in his world,
you also exist.

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