She had a kind, full face that smiled often and widely.

Her Instagram profile was full of collages of her new place, friends and beach days. Each had hopeful, warm bios underneath with some in French and some not.

She was bold and confident enough to make a life for herself on the other side of the world, all alone. Or not quite – ** Insert me here**.

Yesterday I sent her the meanest message, I could find inside of me.

And if I saw her in person I was positive I would hit her square in the face.

I would not hit like a girl, I would hit her like a man. And then I would look at her bleeding and crying on the side-walk; so small and helpless and wonder…

Who had I become?

I hadn’t recognised myself in days.

She was the total opposite of me; she appeared short and curvy, in the areas where I was flat and tall. She wore a cute bob that hovered around her chin with the occasional whale-pout worn in her hair.

I had hoped one day we could be friends but I also knew she never liked me.

He didn’t tell me this of course but I knew when I asked; he winced like what she said was too painful to repeat.

“ Elle est si vaniteuse posant comme un mannequin dans une robe courte.

C’est dégoûtant!

Blonde bimbo.

Only good to look at, hey?

I bet she’s super stupid.”

“She’s mad because she’s scared you will take me away from her,” he said.

“But I barely see you, so… did you tell her that?“ I asked.

“Yes. She’s acting so crazy… idk.”

“Hmmm. Just give her time,” I had said and kissed him on the cheek.

“Friends are important bebou! Don’t count her out just yet!”

I remember the day she texted me-

I thought she was just upset because he had been ignoring her, while he was back home in France.

He was barely speaking to me too which was mildly upsetting. But when he did, he was warm and apologetic.

He was revisiting his old life, I reminded myself.

I just had to be patient and wait for his return.

And then she asked me that terrible question-

“ So how did you know he fell for you? “

Fall for me… there was no formula… We just went on dates, I wanted to say- before she followed up with-

“I just need to know. He’s put me through a world of pain and I need some answers.”

“I’m not here to fix things between you two.” She quickly said afterwards…. and then it a l l c l i c k e d.

… We had fixed things between us after he stood me up for Valentine’s Day.

He said he had ‘food poisoning’ and then told me he loved me for the first time.

He wrote it with his finger on my chest, like it was a secret.

Before he left for France, we cuddled and kissed like it was the last time; not knowing it actually was.

He told me he didn’t want to leave and that he wished he could spend his birthday with just me.

I felt myself go numb, as the panic roamed from every inch of my body.

I was his person, wasn’t I?

“ ANSWER ME! “

“ Yes… I did it.” He said, after a long pause.

“ It was before I left…. It was a mistake… I erased it from my mind the minute it happened…”

I hung up as the world fell apart.

Laying on my bed for ages, just in shock my pathetic fingers could only write-

“ I really loved you…”

“ I know.”

“ You’re wonderful… “

And then I blocked him.

I then took his Berlin shirt waiting for him in the cupboard, his birthday present and every last long socks I could find and placed them neatly into the bin.

“I hope one day you find someone who you love entirely and then they go and fuck their friend, so you know exactly how this feels.”

I punched those words into her Instagram account, as I noticed she had changed her profile picture to her modelling a pair of jeans, topless.

The sudden change didn’t quite make sense with the rest of her profile, so I guess our correspondence had enlightened her to try something new. Glad I could help…

But before I could hit send, my friend rescued my phone from my drunk, ice-cream covered hands and sent this instead:

“ I hope one day, you find someone who loves you entirely, so you know how this feels.

And thank you for fucking my boyfriend and not your own. “