I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t say it right then. But little did I know I’d regret it that much. Right now, I’m sitting here hypnotizing the picture of you recalling every single moment I could’ve told you. But the crippling feeling of something between fear and shame shut my mouth. I let my pride get the best of me. But what good is pride if all I have left of you is this crumpled photo? I can blame it on pride or untamable desire but the brutal truth is present. And will never be absent. You’re gone and I am here. But without you only my body is here. My mind is watching a movie of me and a different man. The camera catches every detail. How my lips traced from his, not yours, lips down to his, not yours, neck. Then the scene dramatically changes and I see you, not him, in a car relentlessly rushing towards a cliff. You are in the car, not him, I don’t forget to remind myself. He is now in the shower, clueless.

The movie fell blurry as i whispered, “It’s always been you, not him.”