The Other Guy

Just because you were in loved first doesn’t give you the right to be possessive. It doesn’t mean that you own every throb of her heart. That every inch of her skin belongs to you and your hand alone. That every neuron of her brain thinks of you and not anyone else. I love her just the same – only I am the other guy.

I must admit I’ve been and is still being the other guy. I am still that third party; that “kept” man; that snake breathing down someone’s neck, that traitor who’ll stab you in your back eventually. I am that guy who illegally takes someone else’s property when it is not in use. But I am no prostitute. I am just in love. Blindly, deeply in love, that is.

This is not an accident. I know what I gotten myself into. I am not an idiot. I can justify my actions though. I am still sane and logical. And I know I am not running over someone here. I can still be that other guy. I am still that other guy.

But that will change. I know it will. And like a blind man in a dark room, I saw it happening clearly. Her gentle hands holding mine, a perfect fit I know fate had designed. I saw her eyes flashed a sign of love and hope that everything will be fine and that happiness is ours forever. And this love story will start with a diminutive step she will take eventually – she’ll crush your heart and leave you scathed.

Or at least I imagined these things to happen.

I saw your eyes pierced through me when you saw me held her hand one fine day. I felt the jealousy right then and there. And instead of throwing her hand out, I played with it more, like how a little baby plays with his first toy. I felt the urge to do some more, so I brushed her hair with my hand as she placed her head on my lap. I felt your frustration. And I am slowly feeding on it. But you just have to walk out. Of course, you would. I incurred you some damage and you’ll then realize I am no mere push-over. I may not mean any harm always, but I don’t play Mr. Nice either.

But no matter how hard I may fight, I may still end up as the other guy. That guy who still waits for his time to exhale, holding on to a hopeless relationship, expressing some grief yet would not accept the demise. And not until I have muster enough self-love on my heart, not until I let the stale air free from my lungs, not until I breathe fresh air anew, I am getting myself bounded to be that other guy.