The Other Woman

It isn't the fact that you come home smelling like a perfume you don't own or that you had a hickey on your neck, some nights ago. It isn't the fact that you have been forgetting the simplest details about us, about me. Instead, it is the fact that you come home happier than you leave it, it is how you willingly want to make love on those nights you come home happier; and when we do, they are great, they are lustful, intense-a clear indication that you think about her when you make love to me, that you are, in one way or the other, trying to compensate me for giving another woman the best, that you are trying to relive the moments you had with her, with me, in our bed, in our home.

You've been smiling a lot lately, do you know that? I look at you and see you breaking into a smile, and when you notice I'm looking, you try to hide your excitement, but you fail at it because I can see it in your eyes -I can see your need for her and the desire for her brewing in you. You wear it on your sleeves so gallantly that it reminds me of what it feels like to be young and in love. We used to be what you are with her. You fail at trying to hide her from me, but then again,I understand how larger than life feelings are, how larger than life your feelings are. It is more than you, me, and even her. I understand it because I have seen it before.

You have shown it to me before.

Do you even know that sometimes, I sit and depress myself thinking about what you see in her. I draw up scenarios in my head and make comparisons. What would she do in this situation? What would she say to you on a night like this? How does she make her sandwich? Are you making love to her the same way you do to me? Do you spend more time on foreplay with her? Does she cook for you? Does she love you as much as I do? Do you love her more than you love me? I ask myself these questions. Questions that keep me up at night, that make me at loss for air, that strip me of every dignity I have left. I ask myself these questions hoping to magically get honest answers that would make me feel better or make me feel like this might just be a phase in your life -a momentary exploit.

But deep down, I know. I know that you are no longer mine and I am merely holding on to a figment in my mind. I know that the onlything keeping us together is me. I know that there isn’t an “us” anymore, even; but I can’t help but wonder why you would you treat me the way you do, why you would sleep peacefully next to me, at night, like you aren’t breaking my heart, why you would look me in the eye and lie to me, and feed me lies hoping I am stupid enough to eat them. I can’t help but wonder how easy it comes to you. How you do it all, without flinching, without thinking about me.

"We're in this together." -the four words you said to me when we began our love story. Did you mean those words or were they just a facade? When you said we were in this together, did you include her? In your head, did you make the decision to include her in our story? When you said "we," did you mean you, me and her? Why are you silent? Are you suddenly mute? Speak.

You say you love her, but what do you know about love? You tell me you mean it, but you said you meant it too when you told me you loved me. You describe what you feel for her like it is something out of the ordinary, like it is with her, you find solace, like it is with her, you love being yourself. You say she understands you better than I ever will, but I understand you perfectly well. I understand that you never loved me, that it was all a blur.

I understand that you don't love her like you say you do. You love the way she makes the concept of love easy for you- lacking of intentions and obligations. You love that she doesn't get to question when you go to her and when you leave her. You love that she doesn't place you on a pedestal, doesn't askfor too much, demands so little and expects nothing more than given. You don’t love her. You love the comfort. If you spent more time with her than you currently do with her, she would see you for who you truly are — a selfish liar with an inability to truly love; barely in, barely out.