Many times,
I was a side chick
--in love with the perfect person,
in the right place,
at the wrong time.
At least he was in love with me.
Or at least I assumed it when he told me he loved me,
on our first date,
while looking at his phone,
not at me,
waiting for her reply.
She was his wallpaper.
But who cares?
He told me he was in love with me,
and that was all that mattered.
Many days,
we would talk about our future,
how we'd travel the whole world together,
build our own family,
in a small town in the countryside,
with two kids
--a boy, and a girl,
--a twin would be perfect.
Sometimes, he would talk about his plans.
That he'd leave her as soon as she discovers us.
He would still look at his phone,
waiting for her reply.
At least this time, he was not looking at his phone.
He was looking at me
--in the eye.
She was still his wallpaper.
Still. I did not care.
All I knew was he was in love with me.
We were in love
in the right place
--in the world full of hatred,
and tragedies,
and killings.
We were in love and each was the other's reason we survived.