At first I thought that telling my story was important. Then I realised that it was just a cliché. A commonplace. Man suddenly walks out on wife of twenty-three years. It happens.
I think about all those small moments of devastation. The clueless wives, baffled and begging. For redemption. To stop their worlds from crashing in.
I thought that it would get easier. With time. You know. But actually, as the truth unfolds. That you love me. But that now that you’ve done this there is no going back. And you want to be with her. She’s not your soul mate anymore. No. But you want to see. Just some time. To find out. To choose. And I’m a puppet on a string for you.
Hate creeps in. But suffused with longing and loneliness and need. I think of you from the minute I wake up. What I would be saying to you if only I could. And desperate fear. For everything that I have lost and am losing and that will never be.