My heart is hurt. I do not think that poets are cut out for the mistress game. I got too attached. I imagined the relationship progressing in a way that is not only unlikely, but quite frankly impossible, considering the truth of real life. I always knew he would not leave his wife and children for me...yet I imagined it happening in the most romantic of gestures. He isn't that type of a man. If he was he likely wouldn't be cheating on the mother of his children.
He and I still talk via text and phone calls numerous times a day. He knows most everything about me to this day, and to this day I know next to nothing about his life.
I thought for a time during my move away from him that I was ready for a "real" relationship, yet I just tried the first steps of that this week. My first date with the (single!) man went really well, but in the second date he expected sex and I had no intention of giving it to him. I got frustrated, and started thinking of my mister again.
"It is in the thirties that we want friends. In the forties we know that they won't save us any more than love did."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
My heart is being hopeless here!
I did have one moment of clarity in the haze of being attached to someone that forsakes all attachment. That was during dinner the other day on date number one with the single man. The mister knew I was going (yes, I told him) and texted me seven times during it. I didn't even notice until after dinner. This was a big (albeit small) step for me!
I have done some self-reflection as of late as well. I have come to the realization that I still do not feel bad for being a mistress in this situation. I have no remorse. I had fun. The only thing I wish was different is him. I wish he would chase me down and fight for me, but cheaters aren't fighters.
It is at least quite interesting to dissect my emotions and try to find the truth. Did I really fall for him, or am I merely in love with what is forbidden? What was he thinking, where is his mind now? Did he ever consider his and my hearts in the equation? Why does he keep talking to me and wondering how I am doing? Am I a convoluted friend to him? I think that much is true. I supported him for over six months, made him feel like the man he wishes he still was.
He is an architect whose dreams reminded me of artists I have known, but who sells insurance now. He is married to a woman he cannot stand and stays with her because of kids he does love. Or, actually, kids he realizes he is responsible for. I was that muse that he hadn't seen in a decade.
"Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat; the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of the struggle."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
A poet as a muse? Not inconceivable, and not unsatisfying. My tattoo of a feather to symbolize the siren in me resonates in this situation as well.
Do affairs end when we move away from our misters? Do they ever chase us down? I ask the cosmos as if it is full of mistresses and sirens. Perhaps I will get an answer one day.
Happy New Year, follow your hearts, and cheers!
