Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (On Watching Someone You Love Love Someone Else)

You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
is accidentally spilled all over
your bar stool. Respond calmly
as if it was only a change in weather,
a punch line you saw coming.
After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,
leave the image of him kissing another woman
in the toilet.

In the morning, her name will be
in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.
When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes
untangling themselves in your stomach.
You are the best friend again. When he invites
you over for dinner, you say yes
too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,
it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.
When he greets you at the door, do not think
for one second you are the reason
he wore cologne tonight.

Someone told you once
A soulmate is not the person who makes you the happiest,
but the person who makes you feel the most
who conducts your heart to bang the loudest,
who can drag you
giggling with forgiveness from the cellar
they locked you in
It has always been him.

In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you
a piece of red pepper. His laugh
will be low and warm and it will make you
feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.
Do not count on your fingers the number
of freckles you could kiss too easily.
Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil,
not everything you have ever loved about him,
or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible
and so close. You will find her bobby pins
laying innocently on his bathroom sink.
Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs
of spiders, splinters of her undressing
in his bed. Do not say anything.
Think of stealing them, wearing them
home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,
let him kiss you on the forehead.
Settle for target practice.

At home, you will picture her across town
pressing her fingers into his back
like wet cement. You will wonder
if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms
in the same house. Did he fall for her features
like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,
does she taste like new paint?

You will want to call him.
You will go as far as holding the phone
in your hand, imagine telling him
unimaginable things like “You are always
ticking inside of me and I dream of you
more often than I don’t.
My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.”

Do not call him.
Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.
She must make him happy.
She must be,
She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.

You are a souvenir shop, where he goes
to remember how much people miss him
when he is gone.

I really should be studying but I came across this poem and it is beautiful. It left me sitting in front of my laptop screen in silence for a good five minutes.
On one hand, I need to know. Who? It’s been a question that has been haunting me since that Saturday I heard that he had “another one”. Whether it is the “another one” his friend was referring to, or whether it is another someone new, right now, I dread the day that I find out he is seeing someone else; the day when I can put a name and a face to the new girl in his heart (where I used to be).
But sometimes, I think knowing is the only thing that will give me the closure I need since he never bothered. You know how people say “You will only truly move on when you find someone new”? I think the reverse holds true too, that you will truly move on when they find someone new. Simply because you have to.
She must make him happier, though. She must.

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