Discarded

Discarded. Thrown in the corner of the closet. The fit, the smell, the feel is familiar and somehow comforting but not to be worn again. Why am I aching for the physical intimacy that was nothing more than a way to pass the time from the start? I didn’t want you to fall in love with me. But I liked being wanted.

Now you have a new suit and though you won’t say it, I can see in your eyes that you’re done with me. The loneliness never left even when I lay there in your arms but now it consumes me and I feel bitter. I don’t want to, but I do.

It will pass. This isn’t the first time a lover has turned me aside for another. You don’t even have to say that’s what is happening, I already know. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It hurts. I don’t want it to, but it does.

It gnaws at my insides. Why not me? I didn’t want you to fall in love with me, but why didn’t you? It’s not my heart that is hurt, it is my ego.  There is something wrong with me that I can be so easily replaced, so easily scorned, so thoughlessly discarded. Last season’s fashion, so out of style.