The Other Woman.

I was young and so was she. We lived and loved for a little while.

She asked me what I liked and did all I loved. 

We met a lot, and talked a lot. She would make me talk about my partner.

And I told her I was happy. Then she would lean and kiss me

I asked her if she ever loved, she asked me too.

We both didn't know, so I held her hand and took a long stroll.

As the darkness dawned upon us, we parted. I never stayed past evening.

My partner waited for me every night. And every night I went back, only to her.

Another morning, another night. The separation was hurtful

The reconciliation was exuberant. She loved to talk

And listen to me. I told her my dreams, the foolish ones

And the innocently grand ones. And she told me she wanted to travel.

The evening passed quickly and the darkness would arrive soon.

I could not let her go, neither did she want me to

She held my shoulder and asked me to stay. How could I refuse?
How could I ever deny her of my love? As the evening slipped away, so did our fears.

Without revealing her pleasure, she leaned on me like every time, and kissed.

Only this time we didn't part.

I was received warmly by my partner that morning. She seemed normal.

Unaware, untouched, she took me through her day.

I listened patiently and laughed at her jokes. I played with her hair

And caressed her face. She cooked for me and sat beside all day.

When she fell asleep, I thought of last night. I turned and told her I loved her.

And in that quite unlawful moment, I thought of her. Not of my partner.

But her, The Other Woman.