Letting Go

I keep thinking about us.
The us we used to be I mean.
We laughed and joked.
You were my best friend.

Then you were done.
And suddenly she was your baby, your sweetie.
And I was just the friend.

When did it start matter what they said?
When did their opinion start to mean that I got the boot?
And why is it that after all this time,
hearing about you dating rips my heart out?

That’s not fair.
Isn’t there some rule that it has to stop hurting after 2 weeks?
Or at least after a month?
It’s not fair,
to me or to him.

Him who?
The one I care about now.
The one who does the same stuff you did.
The one who always knows how to make me laugh or blush.
Who always says just what I need to hear the most.

You still do that.
You call and we talk,
and you say exactly what needs to be said.
You tell me that I can do anything.
That I must have done something perfectly,
because I’m perfect.

At least you didn’t mean to rip out my heart.
At least I told you to do it.
Doesn’t that make it all better?
Doesn’t that keep the blame on me nicely?
Doesn’t it make it all my fault just like always?

I care about you.
But,
he cares about me,
at least as much as I care about him.
He treats me like a person,
not some form of entertainment.
I’m not an amusement,
something to be thrown away at the first sign of wear.

I am a person.
And I am letting you go for good.