At first my fear was being forgotten. Being tucked away deep into the synapses of your mind. Where only parts of me would flicker when you were bored or heard something that reminded you of me. I thought that you might shelve me. Pack me away on aisle 3 and continue to shop without remembering the way I used to make you feel. I was scared that you would leave me there alone, for my label to peel off and dust to collect while everyone carries on with their life without seeing the value in my product.
But I couldn’t be more wrong.
I was silly to think that you ever could have dismissed me from your thoughts. Whether you want to or not, you carry me with you each day. I’ve noticed how all of my exes look for parts of me in their new chicks. Hair color. Body. Interests. Personality. Sense of humor. Talents. Smile. It’s pathetic really. To want so badly the thing that you cannot have… that you must search for similarities in someone else.
That carbon copy cunt could never be me. She is and will always be a low budget replica of the realest thing you’ve ever had. I hate to break it to you, but stunt doubles only matter in movies. They can’t fill in the gaps I’ve left you with no matter how hard you try. How can you fit a square into a place where something smooth belongs? Listen, Not-So-Fresh-Prince, everyone always preferred old skool dark skin Viv to new light skin Viv.
You knew I was a rare find when you had me, which is why it’s harder for you to accept that I am really irreplaceable. Any other woman that tries to walk in my shoes will inevitably stumble; she doesn’t have my stride, my sway or sassy quick wit. Any woman who tries to replace me is fighting a losing battle. Like kettle cooked chips, imitation crab meat, cola or lemon lime soda — there’s just nothing like having the real thing.
Here recently my ex reached back out to me with his “confession”. He explained that every since I left him, all he does is look for me in other women and get disappointed because they aren’t me. So now he wants to fight to have me back. Whatever it takes. He will earn my trust back. He will take me out any time I want to go. He will ask how high every time I say jump. All I have to do is say I’ll try to make it work.
Why don’t guys know what they have until it’s gone? Did you, ex-bae, really think you could do better than the best for you? Let’s be clear, I never said I was the best chick ever… I said I was the best for him. Two different things. I’m the best for whoever my “him” is at the time. I have bended to fit what ever mold my “man” wanted/needed me to be in.
I am custom made, specially tailored for my man. Whatever he needs or wants, I’ve always had it. Always more team him than team me. If you’re used to walking into a restaurant and the waitress already knows exactly what you want and how you want it — of course you’ll prefer her service over the new girl who doesn’t have a clue or brings you something sub-par.
Your problem is in thinking you ever had an option between the two. A hurt woman will leave the door cracked in case the man wants to walk back in because he realizes that he’s been a fool and returns home. She will risk it all to have him come back. A strong woman will perhaps feel the same desire but deadbolt the door until her house is back in order. Because despite the allure of having that “old thing back” it’s not worth the sacrifice she’d have to make to have it back. And why invite someone new, into a dirty home?
So no. It doesn’t matter if you’d now break your back for me just to piece us back together. No. You must cope with your knock off versions of everything you miss about me. I am a genuine, one-of-a-kind, specially crafted woman who will give all I gave to you and more to the right one who recognizes I am not and never will be an option.
Because the truth is, they always come back.