Quando uma mulher é traída, não tem outra opção senão seguir em frente

Ontem à noite, recebi uma mensagem do meu ex. Claro que já passava da meia-noite e eu já estava a dormir quando a mensagem chegou.

Provavelmente saiu e embebedou-se, e as suas emoções levaram a melhor sobre ele. Pensou no que já teve e agora perdeu. Pensou em nós.

Ele pensou que eu responderia de imediato e que aproveitaria a oportunidade para falar com ele e dar-lhe o carinho de que tantas vezes precisou no passado.

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 enquanto fingia que se preocupava.

Ele esperava honestidade, cuidado e empenho da minha parte depois de me ter humilhado.

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.

Pergunto-me se ele alguma vez falou de mim a alguma rapariga com quem saiu, sabendo que eu estava à espera fielmente em 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.

Alguma vez lhe passou pela cabeça ser honesto?

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?

Será que ele sabia que perder-me o iria magoar mais do que tudo?

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

Foi a sua falta de cuidado que o denunciou. Nem mesmo o meu amor conseguia ver para além disso.

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 uma alma cansada.

I know well what I’m made of. I know I can do better than him. I know I merecer mais.

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.