“Emotional Masochist”, a term that I call myself for asking you about what you and her did and talked about during the times you were infatuated with her. Funny as it would seem, but I miss this pain–the pain of knowing my love loves another one. In this case, I guess the term should be ‘loved’.
During the times you first talked to her, where was I? I was in front of my computer, sulking about the consecutive misfortunes in my life. The guy whom I fell in love with would not let go, or should I rather say that I could not let go. And there were you…
The time you were happy because of her, I was then seeking for someone who could make me happy.
My heart seemed to beat faster when I saw how you told her she was strong, that her strength was admirable, and how you told her you liked her–it was almost the same as our confrontation.
And so I see, you also told me what you told her a long time before we met. That hug…
She did nothing to me, but why do I feel so agitated? What should I envy about? I am now with you, and you consider me most precious among all. But how come?
If I went back, would there be any difference? If I went first, would she be the one with you now? If I did not express that the feeling was mutual, would it still be her?
It kills me to know that someone you loved did not love you back. But if she did, I would not be given this chance of having you… Of being able to be your present.
No matter how good I am in playing minesweeper, I could never erase the fact that once upon a time, you were happy to play it with someone not me… Someone who taught you how to play it. That once upon a time, it was not me.