Love is not always where the heart is, this man, whispering things of passion while he minds his pocket book with his wife. We all love more than once in life, wanting something we can’t get anywhere except in secret, a scandalous madness we don’t’ realize brings us to hurt the person we claim to love, those snatches of moments, of intensity we savor after they have ceased, the stuff of love we believe only to seen turn into a bitter wind we are forced to drink, when he goes back to dine with the woman he needs more than you. How horrible it feels to be the one he leaves behind, the dust of his hasty retreat like a fog we struggled to peer through and then cringe when we see clear now what we foolishly could not see before. It isn’t only love that blinds someone, sometimes it is the glare of wanting love that is just as blinding.
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