Tuesdays aren't better

They're worse.

I am no better than you.  No different in fact, but we know that.  She knows why my heart faces another direction but she doesn't know why my heart faces a direction that won't face me back.  She reminds me of me when I felt the same way about you.  Why won't you face me when he proves to be twofaced.  Now he is not twofaced. Now he faces only you everyday and you love him for it, but still I won't get the picture. Rather, still I won't get out of the picture. 

What faces me is picturesque, someone who shows me more than I ask for.  But I think myself to be an artist. I suffer to draw my own pictures. My hand is not steady, my heart thuds too violently. I will never draw my masterpiece.  I despair to think that my own heart beats against me rather than for me.

Today I felt the pain and shame I've made you feel. I hurt a good person.  She's better than me. She made her choice selflessly to let me make my own selfishly. That, is grace. I'm sorry to you both for my lack thereof. I have fallen from it.

I'll leave you both alone. Your world is not mine to pick apart, nor mine to piece together. I only meant you the best.