All I think of when I look at you is how we missed out on what we were supposed to be.
We were that couple, the one everyone said would get married and have two kids and live in a big house with a nice car.
We were the high school sweethearts, the ones caught kissing in the mall, the couple who could never get enough of each other because they were best friends.
Now we are. We are the breakup story—the girl who took selfies of herself crying during the breakup and then new ones looking smiling and strong afterward (hint: the smiles were fake). We are the boy who told his friends he was better off without the girl; the couple who equals two minus one, and the story that eventually fades because no one wants to stay sad forever.
We were supposed to last. We were supposed to make it, to be the one in a million love stories that never end.
We were never supposed to stand in the rain, staring at each other while standing six feet apart and crying behind our masks. The rain hid the tears, but it couldn’t hide your eyes. A pandemic broke so many things, but I didn’t think it would have the power to break us.
I drove off while you stood, drenched to the skin. I tried to listen to Taylor Swift sing about breaking up and drowning the pain, but instead, our song kept coming on. I wanted to move on, but you kept following.
Now your picture pops up on my feed, your videos with her, your smiles that seem so real. You look content, now.
I wish I could be happy for you, but I miss what we could have been. I hope you can be happy enough for the both of us.
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