One More Chance

And there goes another one.

Down that long aisle. This time, it’s as red as her painted lips.

I watch her from my place, next to her soon-to-be husband. She’s beautiful in her off-the-shoulder gown, her veil covering just her eyes. But that blue doesn’t stay hidden. It never did.

She is so focused on not tripping, a small wrinkle forms on her brow. I want to let out a soft chuckle, but this isn’t the time or the place, and I can’t help but feel as if this is the last time I’ll really get to see her so open.

She catches my gaze and looks down, her face becoming harder to read with every step she takes.

My heart feels like it's being squeezed.

I’ve known her most of my life, grew up with her in our old neighborhood in Venice Beach. Back then, I’d never have believed anyone who said it wouldn’t be me waiting for her at the end of this aisle.

We were inseparable. We did everything together. From movie nights to parties to being the person we could each lean on for support no matter what.

Sure, I used to hold out hope that one day she would open her eyes and see what was right in front of her, and we almost had our moment. I could taste it.

But then she had to meet my college roommate.

That shy half smile she flashed him as soon as he opened that door, interrupting us as we were unpacking my sixth bag of books. I had no idea what that look meant, and when he didn't respond to her, I thought there still might be some hope.

It took him an entire semester of hanging out with us for him to finally ask her out.

"You don't mind, do you, man? After all, you're like, brother and sister at this point, right?"

And if that wasn't just the fucking knife in my back.

Still nothing compared to the feeling I got when she came by a week later, looking like she literally walked out of my wet dream, all so she could leave with him.

Man, I'm still not over it.

But that was the moment I knew that I was always going to be the best friend. The safety net. Never the romantic interest. But isn’t that how it always is?

And as I stand here kicking myself, trying to bite my tongue and keep it together, I can't help but think back to all those movies that depict this exact moment, this internal struggle as a turning point. Where the bride runs off with another man. But I know that won’t happen. She’s too devoted to the man on my right.

It doesn't matter that he's stepped out on her. She took him back.

It doesn't matter that her light has dimmed after being with him. She stays.

It doesn't matter that we've all tried to talk to her. She doesn't listen.

It destroys me that she thinks so little of herself that this is the best that she can get.

I just hope he knows how lucky he is to have this incredible woman.

But he's too much of a prick to realize what he has, that's for damn sure.

It makes it that much more painful for me to watch as she steps up to him, to hold his hand and look into his eyes as if he’s the only man in the room. It’s how I looked at her for the past fifteen years. And not once was that specific look ever pointed in my direction.

That phantom hand continues to squeeze my heart until it starts to crack under the pressure.

In my head, I know when it’s time to give up. To bow out gracefully.

But that’s never been my style.