“I am like her. The one you left for me.
And I hope you know I knew you would leave me, as you did her.
But I didn’t much care, because I wear rejection like other women
wear diamonds; covered in the memories of those lost.
And I know you. You thought I would never do better than you, so my days would be spent pining and rewinding.
But you never knew me. I breathed love through all the tears because nothing is better than being with someone who chooses me, and you were never going to choose
Because I know you. Options are your fuel, and you run on women’s hearts like big trucks run on diesel fuel. Always taking a little more than you need. Always costing
more than you should.
You must think I am drunk still. But I got sober when you left me.
So sure, come again please. I would like to have the opportunity to face you. For girls like me become women who don’t sell their truths for late night dinners garnished with pleasantries and stories devoid of truth designed to make me want you.
I don’t live for your compliments anymore. And I don’t need your approval. I took all that wanting and needing and turned it in on me.
I poured all that yearning for something more into me and filled my belly till I was so full, I didn’t even feel lonely anymore.
And slowly, the missing seeped out of me, and slowly, the hurt turned to tender memories that hit me swiftly and moved on easily.
I hope you find her; the one you don’t want to leave for someone newer and shinier.
I hope you learn to see how your obsession with “could be better”, “must keep my options open always”, is torturing mostly you.
Because we move on. And you’re cycling back through now, calling ones from before,
And I am flattered, I am. I even notice the love I have in me for you.
But I know you. You will never be satisfied. Not with me, not with anybody till you start
adoring you, till you stop chasing pretty so that empty feels filled and not just momentarily.
I admit I wanted to be that girl for you. I wanted to be the one you stopped on, I thought I would be different. If I just poured enough of me into you. If I gave you space, but let you know I was always here. If I never got angry and always did things perfectly and so sweetly.
But it blew up, didn’t it? It didn’t work, not really. And I got clear.
I am just not the girl to teach you how to adore. I am just not your girl
anymore.” –Emily Rosen
❤️ Emily Joy Rosen