Every time I see your face,
every time I think of you,
every time I notice how you keep your hair short these days,
I’m filled with the sadness and guilt that roars in the wake of failure.
It was not my job to make you happy,
but I wanted to.
It was not healthy for us to bend and fold, making origami out of our Selves for the sake of saving what was between us. But we tried.
Now, you two look perfect together. And while my fingers twirled through the soft curls of a man with honest eyes, I noticed your fingers intertwined with his—the man with qualities that uncannily mirror me. It wasn’t the first time I saw you two together. He’s already giving you what you need and deserve because he doesn’t break away from your touch, proclaiming that he’s hot or has to use the bathroom or needs feed the cats.
You two fit,
and you look happy.
So maybe I didn’t fail after all.