Quando una donna viene tradita, non ha altra scelta che andare avanti

Ieri sera ho ricevuto un messaggio dal mio ex. Naturalmente era passata la mezzanotte e io stavo già dormendo quando è arrivato il messaggio.

Probabilmente è uscito, si è ubriacato e le sue emozioni hanno preso il sopravvento. Ha pensato a ciò che aveva un tempo e che ora ha perso. Ha pensato a noi.

Pensava che avrei risposto subito e che avrei colto al volo l'occasione di parlargli e di dargli il calore di cui aveva avuto bisogno tante volte in passato.

Drunk as he was, he imagined me running to his door and reassuring him with kind words, while I’d watch him reach for my hand mentre fingeva di preoccuparsi.

Si aspettava da me onestà, attenzione e impegno dopo avermi umiliato.

He was so confident that I’d leave my pride in my bed that I woke up in this morning – just to give him all my understanding.

He actually thought I’d beg him to tell me what’s wrong?! I bet it was hilarious for him, picturing me believing every lie he told me as a reason and story behind every drink he took.

Mi chiedo se abbia mai parlato di me a qualche ragazza con cui è uscito, mentre sapeva che lo aspettavo fedelmente a casa.

If he only knew how many times I closed my eyes to the truth – how many times his phone rang with an unknown number where I wished I could answer it.

Gli è mai passato per la testa di confessare?

Did he know that he’d regret losing me as much as I regretted those nights that I turned a blind eye and made excuses for him?

Sapeva che perdermi lo avrebbe ferito più di ogni altra cosa?

It’s such a shame that he wasn’t careful with my feelings. It’s a shame he didn’t keep me from harm.

È stata la sua sbadataggine a tradirlo. Nemmeno il mio amore è riuscito a vedere oltre.

I knew something wasn’t right. I knew his words were pure lies.

I could almost smell every one of his secrets. I could literally smell the perfume on his jacket that wasn’t mine.

I wish I can show him how worthless his message and his “I miss you” looks now.

He is not a part of me anymore and neither is that black lace dress that he loved so much on me. I’m wearing the yellow one now – the one I love on me.

It doesn’t matter what he likes anymore. It’s all about me now.

Once upon a time, he mattered the most, he was my number one, but he tossed it away. There’s no going back.

Now, as I’m looking at my phone and his late-night message, I’m wondering what he is – strong or desperate?

I’m eager to ask if he knows that his mens rea is late, just like his message.

I’m certain that, whatever the future holds, it will show him how powerful feeling guilt is. It makes you crawl, beg, and cry for the one whose love you didn’t know how to appreciate.

But, I’m a woman. I can get through anything – even when I’m in pain, even when I have un'anima stanca.

I know well what I’m made of. I know I can do better than him. I know I meritare di più.

I deserve more than his lies, selfish acts, mysterious phone calls he got, confessions he never made, another woman’s perfume on his jacket, every secret he kept, the black lace dress, and late-night messages sent with a guilt-laced glass of wine. He can’t get the best of me.

So, I am strong enough to get up from my bed, type “It’s too late,” and move on with my life.