Quite love you a lot.

I want to know who your new boyfriend is. I want you to tell me all about him.

I want to hear about what made you fall in love with him and how he’s been sweeping you off your feet ever since.

Perhaps it was his looks, or his kindness, or the way he makes you laugh.

Perhaps it’s every single thing about him, in which case I’d still want to know every single detail.

I want to look at your pictures and how comfortable you are with him.

I want to know the way he makes you feel. Safe, like home.

Or perhaps nervous, rushed with adrenaline.

Or both.

I want to know if you see a future with him, or what you are planning to do to keep her in your life.

I want to know the things he does that make you tick, and how you love him anyway.

All the things you talk about whenever you talk to him, day and night and in between.

I want to know.
Not for comparison.
Or any other ill-fated reasons.

Just to know if you’re finally happy, in which case I will be, too.
In which case, perhaps, I will finally be able to move on myself.

Call me masochistic, but I actually quite love you a lot.