(Photo art by Maurice Evans)
I am in love with a married man. He calls me baby. He says his day begins with thoughts of me. And that each dawn heightens his feelings for me.
I am in love with a married man. We had dated for two months before I discovered he is married. That this man I call lover is a father to two teenagers and a husband to a petite woman. But it didn’t change anything. It didn’t.
Rather it made me love him more. The excitement and secrecy was like pumping adrenaline. It drew us together like magnet. And before we knew it our passion soared above skyscrapers and became too obvious for people to ignore.
I am in love with a married man. My mother says it is an abomination. That I will end up with burnt fingers. But I have no fears. None at all. My rival is a different woman. A meek woman. She came to me in tears but left with the fear that what was hers will never be hers again.
I am in love with a married man And I can’t help myself. He says that he loves me for my ‘I don’t give a shit’ spirit. That meeting me at the bank that crazy Monday morning was fate. And that the slap he received from me that day was the first he had ever received from a woman. Then he smiles and calls me ‘woman of fire’ before returning to his journey towards my nectar.
I am in love with a married man. He says that for the past fourteen years he has been married to a piece of wood. That I am the only beef he has tasted for a very long time. That he will never subject himself to that life imprisonment again. Never.
I am in love with a married man. I am going out of my mind Here. He says he is leaving her for good today. But it is dusk and he has not been picking my calls.