All's fair in love and war. Yeah, my ass. If war is so fair, then how come women and children are killed, too? Innocent women and children. If war were fair, the strong nations wouldn't attack the weak ones. And there would be no lying in wars. And if war were fair, at the end of the day we would sit at a big table and calmly discuss the issues. But it's not.
And if love were fair….God, if love were fair. If love is fair then how come he picked her? I was here longer. I knew him better. It's not fair. Is it because she's prettier than me? Because that's not fair. Is she funnier? That's not fair, either. I called dibs—silently of course. So it should be me he calls every hour to check in to. It should be me he takes back to his place and kisses. And I should be he wants to be with. But love's not fair. It never was.
As I watch them walk away hand-in-hand, I sigh. He looks into her eyes and smiles. My stomach clenches and my heart drops. His childish eyes dance and he strokes her skin. She looks back at him without passion. I think of all the things I would do different if I were her right now. I would close my eyes, I would smile wider. I would whisper, "I love you," into his ear. He would give me a ride on his motorcycle even though I'd scream the whole time. He'd invite me in and we would spend the night together.
But nothing is fair in love and war. So as I watch her look away and watch his smile falter, I come to a realization. Fair means reasonable or unbiased; the traits I base myself off of. I am fair. So I will wait for him to realize the same. In the meantime, I steal one last glance at them—no longer holding hands. And I smile.
