Headmistress

The problem with being the other woman, you see, is that, at the end of the day, you're the one who gets left behind. And there you are, alone, left in the dust, not sure how you got there, your tear-stained cheeks burning with what may be rage, or pain, or perhaps, a combination of both.

And you realize in that moment, that you were duped, tricked, deceived; and as you attempt to choke down the bitter taste of bile and keep your composition, you finally accept the fact that, no, he was never going to be yours.

Because you were a dream, a fantasy, something ethereal that could not be touched or held, until you weren't. Until you let him in, until you gave him a chance to hold you, to touch you, to leave his mark on your skin, your soul, your heart. And all of a sudden you're old news, you're a dirty secret, you're an unmentionable, something that is blocking him from his happy, normal life.

And everything you wanted, everything you hoped for, turns out to be a sham; all of the feelings, all of the emotions, all of the things he said to you, made you experience, are abruptly yanked away from you. And no one knows.

No one knows how much it hurts, how hard you've fallen, how hard it is, after a life shattering fall like that, to climb back up, to dust yourself off.

And there's no such thing as starting anew. There's no hiding from the fact that things did happen, that wanton desires, desperate words, feverish emotions were exchanged. There's no way for me to see him again, and not feel something, be that something anger, hate, disppointment, regret, sorrow, desire, infatuation, love.

Because I loved him. I really did. And before all this happened, I at least had the chance to say that I was able to live, and function, despite these feelings. That I could keep them at bay and be happy, that I could look at him with appreciation and admiration. That I could turn to him, trust him, confide in him, that I could wish, once in a while, that maybe someday I'd be able to be with a guy like him.

But instead, I ended up being with a guy that was him, and while I had the most incredible, most amazing couple of days of my life, I traded in my dignity, my morals, my self respect. And worst of all, I traded in my happiness, for what I thought would be his, because I loved him so much that I stopped caring about the consequences.

So here I am, tears in my eyes, alone, and somehow, the tables have turned.

Because, somehow, he's now the fantasy, the dream, the untouchable; just barely out of the breadth of my fingertips, and firmly planted in her grasp.