To Make Monsters Out of Girls

by Amanda Lovelace

you’re married now, but not to the first girl. not to me. no, you ended up marrying a completely different girl. that seems like it should be the punch line to a really, really bad joke after everything you put us through. after everything i contributed to. yes, i can admit my fault now. i might have been young, but i was nowhere near blameless in the end of our dream. you’re not at fault for anything i said or did—only i am. the first time i heard the news, i expected tears. i expected a cry so loud that it would land upon stars in other galaxies. in other universes. in other dimensions. at the very least, i expected a vodka-neat scorch to rip through my body. but you know what? that didn’t happen. the world did not stop mid-spin, nor did it lose a pigment of its color. the sun never became eclipsed by the all too self-important moon. i imagine going back in time to tell my younger self about this moment—the one where i finally realize that my life truly did go on without you wreaking havoc inside of its walls. i try so hard to imagine it, but i know she wouldn’t believe a single useless word i said. yet here i am. i stand before you the woman who managed to become everything you said she could never one day be. in the years since you’ve been gone, i’ve managed to find love again; more importantly, i’ve managed to find myself again. now i’m the one who takes all our mistakes & sells them to strangers.