The bad thing

It's nearly been a year since our worlds collided. 
Nearly a year shortly after our collision, when the world seemed to spin faster on its axis and we all locked down and held tight for dear life. 
Nearly a year since that regretful, hungover morning when I asked 'so do you always cheat on your wife,' and you said 'no, believe it or not, this is the first time, and I want to see you again.'
Nearly a year since you told me you hadn't felt the same about her since exposing her year-long affair, which helped me justify The Bad Thing we'd just done in my head.
Nearly a year since I stupidly let you see me again. And again. And again. And again.
Nearly a year since I almost came to my senses, but then you told me you'd left her! You 'couldn't stop thinking about me.'
Nearly a year since that final time, unbeknown to me that you'd attempted to seal your break up with a final fuck. An egg-fertilising fuck.
Not quite nearly a year since you got away with it all, shrugging me off with nothing more than a text, cowardly hiding at home knowing lockdown would keep you safe from the woman you scorned.
It's been nearly a year and I'm nearly over it. 
I'm sure I'd be more so if I could have been busier. But instead, we're going through lockdown all over again. And I see through your un-private Facebook page playing happy families, and I want to comment on it and burst your bubble, lay everything bare. But you're lucky you cheated with a better person than that. 
Instead, I'm here leaking the poison from my veins onto the internet anonymously, in the hope it will soon dry up. Everyone gushes that you're such a happy, perfect family. Little do your adoring Facebook fans know just how made for each other you really are.
***
So for all the singletons who might waste away the hours of yet another lockdown scrolling social media, don't feel jealous of those smug little posts from smug little people. The chances are, it's a fakery they're trying to convince themselves of just as much as you.