The Ex

I had always wondered about her.
What she looked like, was she prettier?

All those devious thoughts that creep into you in moments of insecurity, thoughts that even an intelligent, strong person like myself cannot resist entertaining.

Was she prettier? Who was this girl who had broken his heart, torn his self esteem to shreds, a woman whom i'd often longed to slap for the mess she'd made him into?

And there she was.
I walked into the garden and said hello to a brown-haired, baby blue-eyed girl with a throaty laugh and an infectious way of talking to you as if you're her best friend.
Three hours later, and only three hours later, he leans forward in his wicker chair as we sit by the pool in quiet bliss, touches my knee and says:
"I want to tell you something. That girl is my ex."
Three hours later, and i would never have guessed it by the way they talked, but somehow i felt angry.

I've been waiting to see her, be on my best behaviour, meeting-the-sensitive-subject-known-as-the-woman-he-thought-he-wanted-to-marry.

but after three hours of flirting recklessly in front of her, letting him put his arms around me, openly displaying my affection for him, i feel like a fool.
she must think i'm rubbing it in.
she must think i'm a bitch.

i put myself in her shoes, think of the last boy i loved and how i would feel if his girlfriend had done what i did today, i would probably want to take an axe to her head, it doesn't matter if you're great friends and you've moved onto other people, there is such a thing as tact.
What would i do?
i'd probably go out dancing all night, get drunk enough to forget and maybe swear at her in my drunkenness.

and that's exactly what she did.

I don't blame her. I just think he's a fool for thinking that people recover completely. it never happens.
there is always a ghost somewhere in between you.

And here's the killer; something i will never admit out loud.
She reminds me of myself.

And she is prettier.