It hurts.

To know that I’m not the only one in your eyes anymore. (Can’t you see me trying to get your attention?)

I saw you holding onto him like his the best you’ll ever have. (Why don’t you look at me? I’m here, aren’t I? Or, do I mean nothing anymore?)

I hear you praise him. ‘He’s such a good boy. He’s such a charm.’ And I grit my teeth; my jaws can only clench.

But I’d give a smile anyway. ‘Yeah, he’s neat.’ (Because I see you smile too. And it makes me think, maybe you’re right. He’s perfect for you.)

But…

That xxx, is he really better than me?

Does he make you happy more than I do?

Cuddle you in the dark like I do?

Or kiss you like I do?

Can he tell you he loves you in the morning, and still loves you in the evening, like I do?

Will he listen to you when you’re sad? When you’re lonely? Or just plain mad?

Can he take care of you like I do?