To his next, last girl - I was the before you.
I am the reason he might think twice before leaving the dishes in the sink, and have a plant by the window. His dirty socks might even make it into the hamper and maybe, just maybe he'll fold his clothes and put them away in less than eight days for you. Because of me.
He'll know where to find the best sushi and will pack ahead of time. He'll put things back in the drawers and folders where they belong and maybe return my heart while he's at it.
He'll be more patient, and maybe he won't text while he drives. Or drive you crazy. With the excuses. And gaslighting. And defensiveness. And past traumas.
Now, he won't need to be told twice. He's eating better and sleeping better, so you can see the green in his eyes instead of the bags underneath them. He found his confidence and will no longer project his insecurities onto you. And he will never, ever mock your trauma, because now he knows better ... even though he should've already known before.
He'll speak your love language, or at least use a translator. He'll hold your hand and tell you he loves you and say sorry - not after he's done yelling, but because he almost dared to.
When he talks to you nice, know it's because he talked to me mean.
You see, together, I broke us. Without me, he fixed himself.
But if I really did it right, he will have done none of it for me. Or you.
So to his next, last girl - you’re welcome.
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