The thought of him with her - of them together - embedded in each other’s arms like two jigsaw pieces - tore through me. I couldn’t stand it. I wondered how he spoke to her; whether he was gentle like he was with me; whether he listened to her stories and committed them to memory; whether he danced with her in the middle of the street; whether he knew about her dreams. 

I wondered if he thought of her while grocery shopping; wrote her love letters; whether she inspired him; whether she brought out the best in him and challenged him. I wondered whether she was brave; kind; compassionate. I wondered whether she made him happy. 

But… then again it was none of my business - none of my business who he kissed, or held - or laughed with - or spun round in the streets - or woke up next too - or had feelings for - or made memories with - or loved. 

It was none of my business who he loved. 

And it killed me. It really did.