Jeepers I felt like Jesus. You know the whole "before the cock crows twice" story? Google it.
Anyway, so there stood I, already feeling like the frumpy wallflower when he walks right by. Right past me. Not the courtesy of a greeting. Not even the slightest hint of acknowledgement one would offer a stranger on the street. No, he walked right past me as if I was invisible. Dismissed as if I was less than invisible. As if my presence was detestable, and as though I may not dare breath the same air as her.
My heart didn't break. But my stomach burnt with humiliation.
But I understand why. To spare her the hurt and spare him the grief. But who spares me?
Like I said, my heart didn't break. My heart is fairly healed, fairly whole.
But why, if we're just friends, do I still feel like the filthiest of secrets?
Because her insecurities need to be accommodated and mine don't matter. Because she's the wife and I don't exist
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