An apology to remember

I loved him. Which is why I died the other day.

A scar feels real between two places.

I’m wandering already. This is about how I died and I better stick to the topic.

I wasn’t like others. The only person who scared me was I. The things I thought of. The things I was capable of doing. But one can’t run away from oneself.

I won’t go into the past. Because it is so relevant. And somehow it makes me feel less guilty. I don’t want that. Wallowing in guilt. No self pity. Never.

Marriage. I was married to him by many threads.

I hadn’t been but discreetly unfaithful. I had demanded. I had cried. I had innumerable accepted fallacies. I was most often if not always; wrong. I wasn’t pretty. I wore make up twice a day. Once in the morning. Because that’s the thing to do. Again in the evening. To cover the tiredness. I picked his calls on the second ring. His mom cooked better than I. I moved from a woman to his woman. That’s when I panicked.

If he hadn’t walked back into my life… somebody else might have. Or maybe not… But that’s just wishful thinking.

Else I wouldn’t have pushed him to her. He hadn’t realized it. I used his guilt to cover for me. Like stealing bed sheets.

I could smell her on his shirts. That made my baths reasonable.

I could see his hands shiver on picking up a call. That made my cell phone bill reasonable.

I wouldn’t have left him. I loved him.

He was honest enough to admit his affair. Of course I knew it. I’d wanted it that way. But I hadn’t wanted him admit it.

It made me feel small. How I hated him for that. Things had been fine. Just the way I’d wanted.

He was stupid. An affair isn’t worth killing oneself for.

He died. And left me alive. That’s when I died.