I might have realised it first.
I might have seen his eyes, his smile,
It doesn’t change that I’ll always come second to you.
It doesn’t change that you might start late,
But you’re always two steps ahead,
And it hurts.
It hurts my eyes to see how you're passing me by,
And it hurts to breathe when I look at him,
But it’s not a race.
So I keep telling myself that maybe this doesn’t matter.
So how come it hurts?
My ribs pop with every breath,
There’s a familiar stab in my stomach,
My diaphragm heaves,
And snaps against the new air.
Maybe it would hurt less if I could stop myself breathing.
I know that won’t work.
So I’ll count backwards from ten,
Breathe in, breathe out,
Calm myself,
Until I’m empty.
Numb.
Maybe then I’ll be able to look at you again.