He'd talk about her with a soft glow in his eyes.
Like her name carried memories I could never compete with.
I listened.
Every time.
Even when it hurt.
Because I was afraid if I asked him to stop talking about her,
he'd stop talking to me.
So I stayed the girl who listened.
The girl who laughed.
The girl who asked how his day went and got "fine" in return.
She had his love.
I had what was left after.