… but I’m not Chaos.

I wonder if you look at her the same way you look at me. 

When her face is standing before you. 

Do you touch her forehead to yours after an intense kiss, or is that just a me and you thing?

Do you want to keep looking at her because of the symmetry of her face, like you find in mine?

Do you regret every second you see her cast a smile, as you recall your lies?

How often do you close your eyes and imagine it was my lips you were kissing, my eyes staring back at yours?

How can I choose to be without you?

It’s quite simple actually.

I already am without you.

You are not mine.

You belong to an unknown face.

To a ghost that has returned and possessed your emotions.

Feeling guilty over a debt you think you owe.

But your life is your own.

Your future is not anything to gamble with or sacrifice.

What is right is what feels right when you do it.

I think about just how easy it would be to forget you.

To deter my mind from thinking about you.

Forcefully pushy?

a.k.a. assertively confident and determined woman.

Those words - an attempt to be hurtful - worked like a hot knife on sun-touched butter.

But if truly feeling pressured, manipulated, or boundaries ignored?

Then sincere apologies.

But I did not initiate contact again, request selfies, flirt, reminisce on the beauty of my eyes, lips, and hair, accept to meet up, force you to kiss me, ask you to suggest breaking your commitment to another person.

You ignore your desire to keep seeing me, talking to me, thinking about me.

Accountability for those decisions lie with you.

Me? Well I have broken no commitments, made no unwanted decisions, striven for my goals.

Disregarding those unkind words as a first fight - I’ve moved on.

But you are the only good experience with men in my recent past.

Maladaptive daydreams creating phantom recollections of wishful scenarios.

You plague my thoughts.

Haunting echoes evoking memories of happiness - redolent of love and possibilities.

Dreams…

The tranquil, submissive nature of a dream.

I can close my eyes and imagine a world where you choose me.

Mornings drenched in sunlight, hands curiously explore every inch of your face.

Afternoons spent on a blanket in Central Park, legs intertwined as we write, read, and nap.

Evenings curled up on the couch bantering over all the interpretations of the scary movie we just watched.

Late nights though, those are spent in your arms, listening to your voice.

They’re just dreams though.

Creations of the imagination. 

Lies, to make it through another day.

Movies where the actors are shadows and the plot lines are unanswered prayers.

But you’re not mine.

You belong to her.

Every single freaking dream - 

I have… 

But she gets to live.

How can you choose?

You already have.

She is yours and who you want.

I belong to no one.

No person has been willing to take a chance on me.

I would give anything to be chosen.

But I never want to be a second choice.

Every moment you choose her.

Since the moment you answered her text.

Since the time you considered talking to her again.

Since the day you told me things were progressing.

Since the night you chose to remain faithful regardless of your true feelings and recent indiscretions.

Don’t bet on me, gambler.

Because I’ve already lost.