He thought he was cheating on you with me. That should have stopped me. That should have been a good reason for me to let go of my hand in his. But he kept holding it. And I never had the courage in me to unwrap his fingers around mine.
He said those words out loud. After 9 years they still ring in my head as clear as the chirping birds outside.
“I don’t want to have an affair … what is …”
What is this. I don’t understand what I’m doing here. With you. When I’m clearly in love with her.
He never completed that sentence because maybe he realized midway I had a heart too. And while I was too occupied being giddy and lost in our thoughts I did register the hesitance.
He didn’t want this to end either.
Whatever this was.
At that point I knew one thing. I would make his pain, this confusion in his eyes go away.
I was devoted to him as much as I could be at that time. Devoted, yes.
But it came out wrong. Even I admit now it might have bordered on an obsession.
But then the things we did they were full of passion. And it was this zeal that I held onto. He liked it. He craved it. And I played like a devoted pet.
I should have realized we give up on our fantasies the second boredom creeps in. Or we realize we’ve outgrown them.
And he didn’t have to outgrow out of this.
He never made room in his heart or mind for me.
You were always always always in his thoughts. Always?
Yes. But that’s for another letter.