There’s Someone Else

It’s been just a little over two years that we met.

It’s been a bit of a journey to say the least.

There were times where I thought we would never make it through. But somehow, we weathered the storm.

Broke times, rich times, times of plenty and other times of famine. When we didn’t have much and I guess we still don’t now; but we had each other and still do.

He makes me laugh, he makes me smile, he brings me to tears. He breaks me down and builds me up. He motivates me when I need a push. We argue and fight; play and shout.

But along the way…

There’s been someone else.

She’s pretty, she’s beautiful actually. She’s cute. Quiet and humble but captures his heart in a way that I never will.

She came before me. I’m the late one this time.

We compliment each other; where I’m lacking, he has plenty and vice versa. We have a lot in common, a lot that we share together; open and honest about but this is one thing we don’t share.

I don’t know, I guess I thought that being in a relationship would be easier than this.

It’s a sore subject for him. Sensitive actually and I get it.

Talking with his friends and they all share the same views; having discussions about topics that I can only imagine for my future rather than relay from the experience of my present.

I’m not spoilt. Hell, I have 2 sisters and 3 brothers so being spoilt wasn’t even an option for me. It’s not about wanting all the attention but more about wanting all of him for me.

One call; one phone call from her and he won’t hesitate to leave me hanging. Leave me picking up my bottom-lip, pride and self-esteem to find my own way back home to the solitude of the derelict four walls of my room where there’s nothing but peace, blessed quietness and the company of 40 TV shows.

Not that I can recall of the times that’s ever happened but it’s only a matter of time before it does. And there wouldn’t be a damn thing that I could do about it apart from just deal with it and keep it moving.

But there’s no drama, thank God. When it comes to that, I’m good.

I’m second best. I will always be second best.

I’ve come to accept it now. It wasn’t easy but such is life.

It’s not a race. It’s not a competition and even if it was? I would have lost before even trying to win.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s amazing; any man would be proud to have her. I’m not envious or jealous; just…

Incomparable.

I can’t compare to that. To her. I feel invisible when she’s around. Invisible to me. Invisible to him. The dynamics between me and him have to change when she’s in the room. I can’t touch him. I can’t call him baby because she came first. I can’t stare at him for too long and smile, just in case.

I’m expected to change from being comfortable to being cautious in less than a second. It becomes exhausting. And it’s not a one-off thing; it’s every 2 weeks. But maybe that’s down to the pressure that I’m projecting on my own self. Not from him. From me. Maybe I’m just overthinking things, reading too deep into it instead of just going with the flow. Being comfortable with silence, cosy with not knowing and satisfied with change. In the midst of all of that, there’s love and one common denominator…

Him.

“No Fia. Remember, she’s here now.”

“You can’t say that right now.”

“It’s not your time to speak anymore Fia.”

“She’s here.”

Clarity? Please show up. Your girl here is in need.

I know, you might think I’m being immature and petty. But do you know what it feels like to be the third wheel? I never used to but I do now. And it’s… it hurts.

It’s hard. And it’ll never change.

I guess, on the flip side, I can look at it as practice right? For when it’s my turn in the future? Can I really see it like that? Would that make looking at things easier?

She’s not going anywhere.

And neither am I.

So what are you going to do then?

She’s his world; I’m not even a country in it. Even though I hope I am.

I haven’t really been honest with him about how I feel. I’ve only made up some fairytale story of how I wanted my life to pan out. But it’s more than that.

Being me isn’t good enough. I’ve got to be more. More like his friends. More for him, for her. More before my time. Before my turn.

So yeah, I guess it is practice then.

I have to look at things that way; it’s the only thing keeping me sane, giving me the courage to be comfortable with all of it:

  • Being second best
  • Being second place
  • Running a race I will never win

‘But Fia? Who is she?’

She?

She’s a child. His child. His daughter. His heartbeat. And I have nothing on her.

But it’s not a competition, right?

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