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The Best Beloved

MY BEST FRIEND FOREVER, SHARON, is mad about Jack dumping me for an obese, post-menopausal version of his granny. Jeez, isn’t it disgusting for a twenty-something hunk, presumably with brains matching his looks, to oil the joints of a crone? The daemon of lucre has made him greedy and crazy.

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I miss him so. Sharon says that no man in his right mind would leave me.

“I don’t want him back,” I retort. That’s a lie. I miss him like a drug, and if he doesn’t come back, I think I’d lose it. 

Well, he left on his own accord. I am an obsessed, possessive, overprotective, nagging, over-demanding bitch. His words, the unedited version, not mine. 

‘Sad mistake’ was the epitaph he put on the gravestone of what used to be us. Everything after that day tells me that the goodbye had no string of hope for him coming back.

I am now missing him while I know he’s in another woman’s arms, holding the granny’s face in his hands, kissing lips that have been tasted, I bet, by my great grandpa. I wonder what he sees in those eyes that have seen more than the world itself or how he feels crawling under the bridge that has been washed by several El Niños and Bundalangi floods.

So, I have decided, ‘I don’t want him back’. I want someone who’d belong to me. Someone whom I would be his best beloved.