Have you ever seen framed art in someone else’s home be just the slightest bit crooked?
And you want to fix it so desperately, but you don’t even really feel like you should be there?
Except you were invited, so obviously you must belong there. Yet you still feel like an intruder and that you’re invading the home owner’s privacy by even looking at the photo to begin with.
Yet it hangs there, mocking you, begging to be fixed. Yet you know it’s not up to you to fix it.
And you don’t want to touch anything without consent, but you don’t want to offend them by insinuating that their measurements were off or that they have an untrained eye for seeing things that aren’t quite working.
So you stand there and stare at the photo each and every time you visit with white knuckles hoping one day you’ll come over and it’ll be fixed.
That’s what it feels like to be in love with someone who’s promised to someone else.
