As you.

The timing that was perfect.
For you, but not for her.
I am left to pick up pieces,
Of the emotions you do stir.
Then you look at me with distaste,
Knowing you were wrong,
But you don't want to admit it,
So you hide it in a throng,
Of self-lies and justifications,
Reasons real and yet untrue.
You always want what you want,
But don't want to be seen as you.