There are so many "if only"s running through my brain, like on an iPod playlist on shuffle and repeat. If only we'd played on a different court. Or if I'd only decided to give into the jet leg and fell asleep at 3 pm EST. Then maybe I wouldn't have seen him.
I recognized the sandals he was wearing, the ones he bought for our trip to St. Lucia where we'd spent a week in each other's arms. We'd spend the days soaking in the sun and drinking cocktails, and spent the nights making love in the moonlight rising in between the Pitons.
Now instead of me, she was with him. The girl who captured his heart nearly ten years ago. The one I'd never live up to. The one he longed for as I struggled to make him love me. I watched as they walked arm in arm across the grass, carrying a picnic and a blanket. Something we used to do back when I used to think he loved me. And then I saw him kiss her.
I shocked them, I know. But my confrontation could have never delivered the kind of continuous punch to the gut I was experiencing. When my mom reflects on her divorce from my father, she'll often say, "Everything I feared would happen....happened." Here was my biggest fear happening--he had moved on before I had. He has the girl he'd always wanted. And I have nothing.
How do you cling to the edge when there's nothing there to dig your fingers into?