nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman.
“How can it hurt so much to build a man for another woman?” I asked myself every night. I was the one who held his hand through the darkest nights, who stood by him when he was broken pieces. Now, she gets to hold the man I helped rebuild, the man I molded with my love and patience. She gets the finished masterpiece while I’m left with nothing but the memory of his unfinished work.
It’s a cruel reality to face. The realization that I deserved better, that I deserved the best version of him. Yet, here I am, watching him give someone else all the love and care I craved for so long. It’s like watching a house you built get sold to a stranger. I laid the foundation, but she gets to live in it.
Every tear I shed, every moment of despair I endured, I thought it would lead to something beautiful. Instead, I was left with the bitter truth that I was just a stepping stone for him, a phase he needed to grow through before becoming the man he is now.
She’ll never see the shadows that I fought so hard to drive away.
There’s an indescribable ache in knowing I was good enough to fix him but not good enough to keep him. I taught him how to love, how to care, and how to be a better person. And now, she gets the version of him I always dreamed of, the man I believed he could be.
I questioned my worth, wondering why I wasn’t enough. Why did he wait to change for her? What did she have that I didn’t? It’s a tormenting thought, one that keeps me awake at night. The love I begged for, the affection I yearned for—he gives it freely to her, without hesitation.
Seeing them together, happy and in love, is like a dagger to my heart. I’m stuck here, haunted by the memories of what we went through, while he moves on without a second thought. He’ll never understand the depth of the scars he left on my heart. He’ll never know the strength it took for me to let him go.
All I ever wanted was a simple reassurance, a sign that I mattered, that my efforts weren’t in vain. But he couldn’t give me that. It’s ironic that now he can give everything I wanted to someone else. I’m left to pick up the pieces of my shattered self-esteem, while he builds a future with her.
Despite the pain, I find a small comfort in knowing he’s better now. I hope he treats her right, that he’s learned from his mistakes. I hope she never sees the side of him that I did. I hope she gets the best version of him, the version I helped create.
I made a man for another woman.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but I find solace in the fact that my efforts weren’t entirely wasted. He’s a better person now, and she gets to love him. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
the irony is bittersweet,
watching him thrive
with another woman.
she gets the man i built,
the man i nurtured.
the version i always wanted,
yet she is the one who gets to reap all of his love.while i’m left traumatized by his mistakes,
she enjoys the best versions he has to offer.
she will never know the pain
and trauma behind his growth.
