He was yours first, I suppose.
And it doesn’t matter whether you dated for 10 days or 10 years because the fact of the matter is, you beat me to it. You marked your territory before I even knew there was land to be found.
Though I envy you your history and your inextricably linked lives, I don’t envy you because you lost him. You turned your back. You let what you had wilt and decay into nothing. Well, not nothing. I found some scraps, I picked up the pieces. I spotted the stomped on seedling of a heart and nurtured it and cared for it and now it’s mine. And dammit, I earned it. You don’t deserve him if you couldn’t figure out how to keep him yours.
He kisses me like his lips were made for mine, so I can’t imagine how yours compare. I want to ask him whose lips win, but I don’t, because even if he chooses me, I’d rather not turn his attention back to you for even a second.
As we get older, everyone’s past becomes greater. I wish you weren’t so much of his.