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by O.J.Siebel 3 months ago in Secrets

the brightest sunrise or the darkest demise

I think what made her guilt so burdensome, was the hooded cloak of secrecy under which it lived. That cloak had been threaded together by weaves of justifications and woeful sentiments, one stitch at a time, one forbidden conversation at a time. She never thought she’d be the type of woman to have an affair. Growing up she’d dreamed of marrying her best friend, having children young and living a simple life; there was nothing remotely simple about her life. Those pure dreams had vanished, like the colours of day dying under the dark ubiquitous cloak of night.

“But what am supposed to do when I’ve expressed my feelings of neglect time and time again? Feelings of being unloved, unheard, trodden on and dulled down to a dumb dreamer?” she asked the man, the one she knew she wasn’t supposed to be here with, the impossibly handsome man who’d treated her with interest and praised her dreams, the one who’d stitched together her cloak at the seams. The man smiled, like he always did, like he had so much more he wanted to say but never would, “that sounds really hard, I’m so sorry.” Even his gentleness was felt with strength in his smooth comforting voice.

With no table booking, and a downpour of spontaneity, the two of them had wandered in the pouring rain on what felt like the coldest night in winter, yet his presence to her felt like the first day of spring. Their lips and hands never did meet that night, but his spring hands of affection crept under her clothes, like a vine tantalising and curling around her heart. Somehow, this kind of affair felt worse to the woman. It was like a scent only she could smell, a scent like the depths of a lush green forest, both gloriously fresh and terrifyingly wild. She could still feel the itch and restrain of those ivy jungle fists a hold of her beating heart.

“It’s definitely not a situation I ever thought I’d find myself in,” said the blue-eyed boy, as he sipped on his effervescent beer, she sipped on her rum and coke. The woman had been wandering off into her own thoughts as she stared at the bubbles of the beer, the painting on the wall, the vermillion wine stain on her shoes, the scratches in the wooden table, anywhere but his eyes, the vortex of no return. As she stared at the bubbles of the beer, and heard the words rain down like the downpour outside, she felt as though she could have had an entire keg let loose inside of her. So, it was a situation, it wasn’t her imagining the fizzing of fireworks inside her heart, did he feel them too? She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to feel them like she did, what would that mean for her marriage, the one she was never sure she should have entered. If he did feel the flowing fizzle, like the deluge of water outside, then this was no longer an innocent friendship, this was the step into the deep end of the pool in which she feared she may just drown. For her, that end would be like trying to swim with a cloak on, like trying not to love the sunshine on a cold day.

That was the moment, the woman thought, as she sifted through her memories and the forbidden fondness of that moment. There at midnight in a quiet bar and an empty street, she knew, this may be both her darkest hour and her brightest moment.




I'm an old soul in an adventerous ocean loving, thrill seeking body. I adore story telling and poetry and everything in between, the unspoken and unseen.

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