I don’t know where to start. Should I start with the first time I met you? Or the first time I realized how important to me you had become? Maybe I should start with when I first realized that I was in love with you… believe me, it came as a shock, especially since I swore I was incapable of loving anyone. You were my best friend, you were my confidant, I trusted you with … me. Simple as that. I trusted you with everything that makes up who I am, my fears, my hopes, my dreams, the things that hurt me the worst, the things that made me smile the most, the things I was ashamed of, and the things I was proudest of. You were the first one on my mind when I woke up in the morning, and… you were the one I couldn’t go a single night without talking to. Whenever something good or bad happened, you were the first one I shared it with. You somehow wiggled yourself into every part of my life. You became as necessary to me as breathing, and I didn’t want it any other way. I was so happy with the way things were.
And then… it wasn’t enough for me. I got selfish. I wanted it all. You were my best friend, you were the man I was falling for.. and… you had her. I guess I got jealous. I knew you weren’t happy with her, and I knew I made you happy. I thought that maybe… as long as I stuck around, eventually you’d see that it was ME right there, always, for you. That it was ME who you told everything to, that it was ME you envisioned your future with, that it was ME who knew all your flaws and loved you anyway, that it was ME… right there, right in front of your face…
I knew you were falling for me too. You said those three words first, and told me that you’d wait for me to say them, until I was sure I was ready. And you did wait. And you waited. And… waited. It was so hard for me to say those words, especially when I thought I was incapable of feeling them, that there was no way I could love someone, that I’d only end up hurting them.
And we got closer. And… I started to hope. And I thought that if I just held on long enough, if I just wished enough, it would happen. That I’d be the only girl you wanted in your life. That I’d be enough for you.
I never felt right, when you told me you loved me, more than you loved her. As we got closer, and you and she grew further and further apart, I started to worry that it was because of me, that I was somehow getting in the way of you being truly happy.
So I told you it had to end. We couldn’t keep pretending like we were a thing, like we were together. As much as I wanted you for myself, I gave you up.
You accused me of doing it for selfish reasons, but… the only reason I did it was because I knew you weren’t the kind of guy who would cheat on the girl he was with, and I knew that once you came to your senses, everything that was beginning to go on between us would hurt you. I did it for you.
I will admit to secretly hoping, deep down inside, that you’d realize that you couldn’t let me go that easily, that you’d come running after me, telling me that she was out of your life, that you wanted to be mine, and for me to be your’s.
Instead… you asked me to just go back to the way things were, before I ‘changed how we were’. You said that you wanted to break up with her, you just didn’t know how. You asked me to wait for you… indefinitely. You asked me to not associate with other guys, in the meantime. You asked me to just go with it for a little while, to see where it goes. You asked me to be the ‘other woman’.
And I’m sorry. I’m not the understudy. I deserve to be the leading lady in my own story. I deserve to find a guy who will love me, as much as I love him. Who doesn’t want me waiting in the wings, watching him run his lines with his leading lady, hiding in the shadows of secrets and late night conversations when she isn’t around.
I started writing tonight, with a very heavy heart. I was hurting, and just wanted to curl up in a small ball and cower until this hurt went away, I wanted to avoid all the pain and the ‘what if things were different’ and the wishing that I was the kind of girl who was happy with only being the understudy. But now… I’m… hopeful. I know that when the time is right, I will be the leading lady, running her lines next to her dashing co-star, reveling in the bright lights, letting everyone see my love for him and his for me. That I won’t have to hide in the curtains, hoping against all odds that his leading lady will flub her lines and he will have need of her understudy.
I won’t be the understudy any longer. I love you, and I’m sorry that it causes you pain, but… I deserve to be the star in my love story.