I’ve really got to ask, what makes you so much different than me? Is it the way in which you comb your hair, or the fact that you get dressed in front of him each morning? Because I can’t seem to understand, as far as I’m concerned there should be no question as to who he should be with, yet, there he stands, arm around you, comfortable as can be.

Then there’s me.

Inside, my body trembles, outside I show no fear, no anxiousness, even though I feel like I have a thousand spiders crawling inside of me, eating me alive. The numbness is overwhelming because I can’t stand to be around the situation where you get everything. You get his smile, his laugh, his highs, his lows and here I sit, perpetually lonely in a world filled with love. 

You giggle smugly, knowing deep down that you’ve got ultimate control over every aspect of his life. You giggle because you know that my heart continues to crack and falter every time his hand graces yours or his nose nudges your face. You can almost hear it, like a nail hitting ice, I’m doomed to falter one of these days. 

He has eyes only for you, he’s unable to clearly see what stands in front of him because he’s fogged up beyond belief by the stooper that you’ve put him in. How am I supposed to break free of this? How am I supposed to move on when I know deep down that the only person capable of satisfying my void of love, is him. 

I’ve sat and contemplated the multitude of ways to get rid of you. In reality, it wouldn’t be all that hard. You’d find somebody else, break his heart and leave me to sweep up the pieces. Or, there would be the option for him to cheat on you, even though deep down I know he could never, he would never, it’s totally out of the question. 

He speaks, pulling me out of the conscious drive to get rid of you, “Liz,” he states, “we’re gonna get going, okay?” 

“Uh, well, okay... I’ll see you later,” as usual, he pulls me into a hug embracing his warm arms around my figure, gently squeezing at the last second. 

“Merry Christmas, Lizzy.” 

“Yeah,” I stammer, “Merry Christmas, J.”

The snow begins to blanket the ground and I walk inside, clutching to the scent that has overcome my clothes. It’s difficult to bear, as I already know that no matter what I do, every time I inhale I can recall every memory of how this all began.