THE PATTERN OF PRETENDERS

I tried to imagine living like that.

Walking into a room hoping another man's woman noticed me.

Waiting for someone else's relationship to fall apart so I could feel like I won.

Bragging that I had somebody's girl.

Then what?

She goes home.

Back to him.

Back to the children.

Back to the bills.

Back to the laundry.

Back to the grocery list.

Back to the school meetings.

Back to the family she has to look in the eyes tomorrow morning.

Back to the life you interrupted...

...but never had.

And you?

You walk around telling everybody you "won."

Won what?

A few hours?

A story?

A memory?

A lie you keep replaying because it sounds better than the truth?

Meanwhile, she gets home.

Now she's pretending.

Pretending everything is normal.

Pretending nothing happened.

Pretending she's okay.

Pretending she's still present.

Lying to him.

Lying to herself.

Trying to keep the pieces from making noise.

And you know what's funny?

Everybody's acting.

He's pretending he doesn't notice.

She's pretending she isn't carrying guilt or confusion.

You're pretending you accomplished something.

The friends pretend it's "player" behavior.

The internet pretends it's success.

The music pretends it's power.

Everybody's pretending.

Except the children.

They don't pretend.

They just grow up inside whatever pattern the adults leave behind.

That's the part I couldn't join.

Not because I thought I was too good.

Because I couldn't convince myself that borrowing somebody else's life was the same thing as building my own.

The older I got, the more ridiculous it sounded.

"We shared the same woman."

And somehow...that's supposed to make us rivals?

No.

That doesn't sound like victory.

That sounds like a room full of people convincing each other a loss is a win.

That's when I realized...

It wasn't the people.

It was the pattern.