Ghost

He went out with her last night. Dinner and a movie and art. Things I would've liked to do, if I were ever asked. But I'm not. I have to do the asking and risk the rejection, which is inevitable these days. I thought he might call afterward, but he didn't. I thought he might call today, but he didn't. I get angrier and more bitter and more hurt with every second that ticks tocks by. I can start to feel the flutter of my heart in pre-panic attack mode. I can feel my hands starting their nervous tremors. My jaw is clenching.

I am the forgotten. The mere mention of his name brings heat to my face when I think of this neglect. It comes from nowhere. The man who used to want to talk every day has started the twelve step removal of me program. Almost complete. Especially now that he has that substitute that is able to repel me like pesticide. Me-icide. I would rather eat glass than have a conversation with her, especially one where I had to pretend I don't mind her. I think how selfish he is. How he doesn't think of anyone except himself. But then I realize how wrong I am. It's not that he doesn't think of anyone, he just doesn't think of me. My heart leaps as the thought exits my head. He, this man that I love, cares nothing for me.

I realize this repeatedly. I wonder how I keep forgetting. It is so painful to remember all the time. Or be reminded. Especially when some quirky blonde waltzes back after three months of utterly childish bitchiness and he is so excited he just has to ask her out. As if nothing ever happened. She is forgiven, while I am constantly berated by mini mistakes. I hate her. She is the golden child that can do no wrong, and she thinks of no one but herself. She is rewarded; I am sequestered. She occupies his time, his thoughts, his words. I am a ghost that is unable to haunt. Because no one remembers who or what I am.