It Hurts

I always knew the day would come, but I tried not to think about it. The day he would meet someone else.

On the phone, I could tell something was different. After giving me advice, he said, "Oh, don't listen to me. You should do what you think is best." When I said something self-depracating, he didn't reassure me. He didn't say much when I mentioned a few of our secrets, things only lovers can share. He stopped reading this blog.

Then he said the words. I'm seeing somebody.

He didn't say much, and I didn't ask. I was trying to be an adult. I heard my disembodied voice saying, "That's great. Good, good. I'm glad."

I learned she is 35 years old, so I couldn't hate her because she's young. I learned she is "very different" than me, but I didn't want to know how. Maybe she's thin, I thought. Maybe she doesn't care about a commitment or children. But I learned the most important thing: that he's moving on with his life.

Why does it hurt so much?

My mom said I should be happy for him because he's a good man and he deserves to be happy. That would be the grown-up thing to do, the nice thing to do. But I don't want to be grown-up or nice. This once, I want to be childish. I want to cry to the heavens and stamp my fists into the ground. I want to beat on his chest so he feels the pain I feel. I want him to come back and give me all the things he said he couldn't give me, even though I know he can't.

I want to be happy for him. My mom is right. He is a good man. But I wanted him to be my good man. Now someone else gets to kiss him. Someone else gets to hear his stupid stories and reassure him about his insecurities. Someone else gets to hear his story, and my story, and why I couldn't give him what he wanted.

It hurts. It really, really hurts.