Can photos lie?
The day I took your photo off the wall because I had you etched in my heart, you were in Tokyo with her. Someone saw you, but you denied the relationship. “Just friends”, you say. I believed you.
Then I saw for myself the photographs they took of you and her, her hands in yours, your body close behind hers because she was cold. Caught you with your pants down, didn’t they? Now you try and reassure me by saying that you’ve only just started, and in the future, who knows what would happen? I know what would happen – you’d do it all over again. All men are the same.
You could have told everyone the truth first, so it’s easier for me to accept the fact. I would even have given you my blessings. But you chose to hurt me. You chose to let me find out with my own eyes. I imagine those lips I love so much, kissing her goodnight. I imagine those hands I’d love to touch, houlding her real tight. And I drive myself crazy.
I didn’t cry, but the tears did threaten to fall. I almost succumbed to the shivers but then I held back. Who am I to be possessive? Even if I did something crazy to myself, would you even care? After all, I’ve loved and worshipped you all these years, yet you don’t even know that I exist.
here I am, stripped bare, wrecked with pain.