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Landmines for the Other Woman

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I would do anything in the world for him and he would do anything in the world for me save from being only mine. Had me questioning on a regular basis if monogamy and fidelity had anything to do with love. I never knew if it was really me he loved or if it was my love below. Naked and in my embrace, he was expressive and I knew exactly where I stood. I could feel it in his kiss, see it in his stare. When I was out of sight, I was out of mind, and it seems as though I am ALWAYS out of sight to him. His words failed him in a way his caresses didn’t. .

I’m far from innocent. I left my fair share of explosives “hidden around his crib” stashed in places he’d never find but a chick certainly would spot. Taking special care to leave a hot pink toothbrush in the cup in his bathroom, my deoderant, the flowered flip flops I wore to get pedicures, my razor. (THAT one killed me to leave. Do you know how much good razors cost nowadays?) And let’s not forget the empty shiny wrappers I took EXTRA special care to leave in conspicuous places. Little gold easily identifiable origami that I’d deliberately fold or casually turn into well-placed confetti for those others stumbling around on MY turf. No matter how hard I tried to mark my territory through possessions round his house, the landmines the others left, (and there have ALWAYS been others) were always much, much worse. Small, sharp little shards serving as reminders that someone else was there with him when I wasn’t, and slowly tore into my heart leaving it and what I felt for him shredded time and time again.

Countless Kleenex smeared with garish makeup and foundation in all shades. I don’t wear foundation. Long straight artificial hairs stuck to bathroom floors, on the soap in the shower, in the pillow on my side of the bed while my hair was short and curly. The goblets in the sink in the kitchen where I cooked, often, caked with gummy hues of lipstick I would never wear. The faintest hint of perfume foreign to my nose in the ether over the bed. The panties shoved between the wall and the head of the bed. That kind of thing sorta does something to you, you know? It’s one thing to know the person you’ve loved for years is not only yours. It’s something altogether different to see evidence of his extracurricular activities.

Sigh. But still I would always come back to him, and he to me.

Why did I go back? Because I thought I loved him and truly hoped in some small flawed way he would one day love me back the same. He never lied about being only mine. Never pretended that was what he wanted because I didn’t live in the same place as him he was to explore other lovers and so would I. Publicly. Countless lovers passed through the revolving door of my heart while he watched and never said a word. If even once he’d comment on it, demand that I give him the heart and woman that surrounded it forever, I would gladly have abandoned all others. But he never has. He’s always remained a silent regent and governor of my truest emotions.

“I was just f*cking those girls; I was gonna get right back.” Jay- Z

Until, we didn’t get right back. Until, we couldn’t get right back. Too many tears. Too many apologies shared. Too much disappointment. Too few expectations. We talked about what we’d been and what we’d wanted to be and about what we’d done right and what we’d done right and what we wished we’d done instead. Each of us had expected the other to be telepathic. Each expecting the other to understand our deepest desires, wants and wishes without them ever being said.

“You were always mine, you just never knew it.”

I got that message from his BBM when I Twitter stalked his timeline and saw him talking about the best he ever had. Funny, since at one point that was his ringtone on my phone. My friend Peaches saw him TUIing -tweeting under the influence as I like to call it, about a woman who was so amazing, the very thought of her brought him to tears. Knowing what we’d been to each other, Peaches thought he was waxing as poetically as he could about me. I got excited and despite my better judgment, I sent him a message. Turns out, it wasn’t me. I’d been a fool for him yet again and another woman had been lucky enough to get the best of him yet again. Them’s the breaks I guess. Now, like Gotye said, he’s just somebody that I used to know.

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