I wish her friends would stop posting photos of her, looking radiant and happy, on my Instagram feed. Not that I begrudge her happiness. But I am jealous at the sight of her. I am confused by the fact. I feel slighted that she could be moving through the world without me. I don’t understand what I feel. I thought I did, but I do not. I thought I’d thought it all out. I moved on, sooner than her. Much sooner. Too soon. (Has she moved on?) I don’t regret moving on. I want to feel wanted and loved. With her I only inconsistently felt either. But I am also confused by a former partner who I didn’t want to leave asking me “André, how are you?”
That shouldn’t be confusing.