Small Comfort

I always said how I felt, never held anything back;
fear didn’t stop me from showing my true feelings.

It didn’t matter. He picked someone else. I wasn’t enough for him, he didn’t love me enough, I was too fat, too needy, too old…

Whatever.

It’s his loss.

I tell myself that, when he’s holding his two beautiful girls and sends me Christmas photos of them.

When he calls me on my 40th birthday, and tells me he and Claire are expecting their third in April.

When I’m alone in bed, wishing his voice was scratching me out of sleep to make love.

When I go to yet another wedding by myself, because the invitation was addressed only to me.

When I stay at home on Friday night, watching old episodes of Alias and drinking Vanilla Coke and vodka.

Yep.

He’s really missing out.