It must be incredibly tough to love a man whose heart has always belonged to someone else.
To know, deep down, that no matter how much you give, no matter how hard you try, there’s a part of him you’ll never truly reach.
You’d always be second, always living in the shadow of a love that isn’t yours.
I can’t imagine what it feels like to see traces of her in everything he does—in the way he talks, in the songs he hums, in the quiet moments when you catch him drifting away, lost in a memory that doesn’t include you.
It must be unbearable to constantly feel like a placeholder, someone filling the space left behind, knowing that she’s the one who still holds the deepest corner of his heart.
I could never do that. I could never endure the daily ache of knowing that no matter how much love I pour into someone, it will never be enough to eclipse what he’s already given to another.
I could never bear the weight of feeling like I’m in competition with a ghost, with a past that I can’t erase, that I can’t even touch.
To love someone who is still bound to another is a kind of silent suffering—one that leaves you questioning your worth, wondering if you’ll ever be enough to make him forget.
But the truth is, I could never settle for love that comes in fragments, love that leaves me waiting, hoping for a moment that may never come.
Because I deserve more than to live in the shadows. I deserve to be the first, the only, not just someone standing on the sidelines of a love story that was never mine to begin with.
