Yes, he had sex with you. I am not going to embellish it and call it making love. Maybe that’s how I’d like to deal with it – that I am the woman he makes love to and he went to you, the other woman as I am conditioned to call you, out of pure lust, out of this inherent human need to experiment and explore, to break out of the rut of permanency.

In the last eleven days, I have called you many names. One of them may or may not have been “whore”. Who am I kidding? I have called you that, that and many other synonyms of the same. The anger I felt towards you, initially, amounted to that. I cursed and cursed…

Until, I realised that I don’t know you. I have never even seen you. In my mind, you are the owner of this perfectly sculpted body with a mind as beautiful as your face. I have imagined you to be someone who draws a man in with her enunciations, drinks whiskey, and talks with conviction – everything that I couldn’t be for the man that we both love.