The Girl In Gray


It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

Love is such an over-rated, misused emotion. It was just scorn about the fact that I wasn’t the leading lady in this story. It was the realization that I was just a vamp, a distraction, a mere extra in your grand epic novel. I was the narcissistic egotist who over coffee with you and your girlfriend, kept thinking you could do better than the sweet, innocent she… that you could, instead, be with me.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It was just hurt and envy that you had her and I had no one. It was self pity. It was the pain of standing passionless and lifeless, holding my feet firmly to the ground to stop myself from running to you… running after you. I was the hypocrite who was single by choice, as if it was a choice I had made.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It was just desperation cramping up my insides when I thought that it wouldn’t be right any more to call you up when I was drunk, or when I just needed someone to talk to…or when I just wanted to hear your voice. It was frustration that someone else’s smile had swept you away, while mine might as well have been a dog’s snarl. I was the wimp who missed every opportunity offered to her on a silver platter, and now blamed everyone else, anyone else for her loss.

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It was just a weird, confused and bad-timed comprehension that I did not want to share you. It was the sorrowful appreciation that you were never mine to share. I was the girl in Gray at your wedding. I stood apart, aloof and kept repeating to myself that this wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

Because, if it was… if only it was…

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