An Open Letter To My Mistress

Dear Mistress,

I am sorry you were the other woman.

When we first met, I didn’t think our relationship would become anything untoward, unfaithful or hurtful.

I liked you.

I liked your personality and our interests were similar.

You loved to travel, so did I.

You fell in love with me and I couldn’t love you back the same.

Life’s simplicities bought us together in common interest.

We only then went and made life complicated.

I do not blame you. I take responsibility for this one.

I am sorry I took advantage of your love for me. I am sorry I lead you along an unbeaten path I knew would eventually lead nowhere. My choice was already made from the start. I am sorry you were second best.

Our brief affair was fun, we enjoyed each other while it lasted and we got to know a version of ourselves in the process. You told me I installed hope that you could love again.

I hope this is still the case...

I got to know a version of myself that had the power to make another human-being feel second choice, not enough and left behind like an unwanted toy I didn’t want to play with anymore.

I cannot being to understand how that must have felt for you.

I wonder how long I would have kept this up. Because let’s be honest, It only ended because I was found out. Or would I have first crumbled under the weight of the consequences that lay heavy.

Not strong enough to lay in the bed I made with you.

I would love to go back and rewrite this story of ours. It could have been so different. At what point did it turn? Was it the moment we kissed, or was it before then? Was this relationship destined for trouble from the time we met? We will never know, but what I do know is it could have been different. We could still be friends if I made a difference choice in that moment the lines between friendship and something more were blurred.

If I look deep enough I can see what I did to you was only a reflection of the insecurities that were going on inside of me.

My need to feel wanted, and there you were. The perfect toy to mould into something to give me what I wanted. It wasn’t a game, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to prove to myself that I could mould someone into loving me, wanting me, giving up everything to be with me. Or perhaps the more appropriate word.

Manipulate.

Let us not forget, I already had someone who loved me and wanted me. Which makes this so much more disturbing.

I proved myself right. Yet, there is no satisfaction here.

I spent a lot of time in guilt. Years in fact. Stomach turned at the thought of you. Not because of who you are, but because of what I did to you.

I not only manipulated you. I manipulated myself into a version I don’t want to know. A version I don’t want anyone to know ever again.

Today I sit in forgiveness. I forgive myself.

And, if by the slightest chance you are reading this. You have the right to do with it as you please.

However, I ask one thing. ..

To forgive me too.

Not for my sake, but for your own personal freedom, to open up the door to be loved.

Loved wholly like you deserve. To have the courage to give yourself unreservedly again to someone.

To love and be loved.