And here, I thought I was happy. I had never thought of twisting off that wedding ring or lying with another man until he made it so clear to me—so so clear to me that where I was resting at night was not where I wanted to be.
He did not do this gradually or through some forbidden kiss. It was the way he acted—in comparison—to what I loved. The seduction was all mine; my thoughts, my dreams, my what ifs, my never ending obsession on what could have been or what will be were too enticing to ignore.
And don't get me wrong either, I still love my husband with all my heart, but it is a slippery slope to think of life without him. All of a sudden you're replacing something that you cannot live without, like food or oxygen and substituting it with uncertainty. Don't ask me why this came about. I don't know if I was bored or missing more adrenaline in my system. My husband is the sweetest man and the one I will love forever. Just, maybe not wholeheartedly.
It started a long time ago. I always wondered what would happen if he and I got together. I wanted to know what it would feel like being with him, kissing him, making love, or getting to know him even. He was always a mystery and mysteries are my weakness. I took pity on him when he would jest that his girlfriend was not giving him enough affection. Years down the line when we became regular friends, I found myself fighting for his fingertips as we passed those poker cards. I catered to whatever he needed—he never asked his girlfriend if she would get him something, he always asked me. In all honesty, I never thought his girlfriend was good enough for him. But it never occurred to me that I would be until months down the line.
But this is how it all happens; this is all how it starts. One look above the frame of the glasses where eyes meet and agree that they have some feelings in common. It's called chemistry for a reason. A tiny spark on a Bunsen burner can be an explosion, and the next thing you know, you are pressed against the wall of a neighbor's closet hungrily kissing each other—to hell with the consequences and the divorce court. You want him. He wants you. There is nothing simpler in the entire world that could get so damn complicated.
Then the examination begins. Is the only thing that makes the situation wrong a ring? The jokes run rampant on how married people don't have sex or don't have romance, or hate each other secretly. They have kids to keep their marriage together, and never agree on what movies to watch. Aren't they entitled to bliss? What keeps those honeymoon feelings alive?
We only get what we always need—almost.