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Can I be her?

The one you walked toward when you walked away from me. The one you decided had the better hair, skin, words, heartbeat. The one who made you smile while you were lying next to me. 

Can I be her?

The one who’s taller, more elegant, and savvy. The one who reads and writes and shapes your mind with her brilliance. The one who is clever and a little knowledgeable about a lot. 

Can I be her?

The one who never says I love you. The one who doesn’t have to because her bedroom-eyes say it all. The one who screams “sex” when you look at her and screams your name while in your arms.

Can I be her?

The one who walks with power and speaks with charm. The one who walked into your life and all over ours. The one who spoke magic in your ears and cast a spell on you.

Can I be her?

The one who laughs like she’s swallowing the sun. The one whose face tilts back with passion-red lips and an illuminated glow. The one who is glamorous enough to intimidate the moon, just like she intimidates you with her charisma.

Can I be her?

The one you felt was better for you. The one you couldn’t explain to me. The one who was worth venturing down a new path for. The one who gives you butterflies in your stomach. The one who does the same for me but from anxiety and rejection.

Can I be her?

The one who intrigues your mind. The one who pulls the strings of your soul and stimulates other parts—the parts you certainly always think with. The one who is brazen, beautiful, sexy, and thieving. The one who takes all you give and gives all you think you need.

Can you please help me be her?

The one who is…the one. The one who stole your heart and helped break mine. The one who broke us.

The one who I can only pray, for her sake, doesn’t end up broken and alone like me.

The one who lies next to you while you dream of another, as you seem to always do. As you certainly did while you were lying next to me.