I expected honesty,
expected you to honour me
but, I always understood
before me you had history...
I do admit to jealousy,
I do admit to fearing she
had a special, little key
that you would never give to me.


I asked you once who you loved more,
I asked because I was quite sure.
I knew the answer you would give,
and was prepared to lose the war.
I tried to let my heart defer
to what I thought you would prefer
what I decided she deserved –
I tried to give you back to her...


I let you go, I loved you so.
I let you disappear although
it hurts beyond what words can tell,
hurts more than you shall ever know.
But why, my love, have you just fled
to the nearest woman's bed?
Why haven't you returned instead
to her, for whom I bled?

I didn't end our relationship because I didn't love him or want to be with him anymore. I ended it so he could be free to go back to his ex, who I was sure he missed and wanted to be with more than me. But he latched onto the nearest female instead. I was shocked, and left asking myself what all the years of pain were for. Pain for me, pain for her, and pain — I thought — for him.