What happens after the affair

Artwork by Lamiaa Ameen

Artwork by Lamiaa Ameen

I cheated on my boyfriend for two years. I don’t know how it happened, but I started loving someone else.

It was love from the beginning.

I was waiting for him to come to work every day. I started wondering what he was doing in his free time with his wife and friends. He was married and a very religious man. I thought nothing could happen because I was the most moral and judgmental person and he was married and religious. Totally safe.

But I fell so deeply in love, without thinking, without any remorse, just lots of fear and pain every second.

Being with him was the best and worst period of my life. It was a dirty, filthy, romantic, and totally fulfilling adventure. It was love and I loved it, every minute of it, even though we only spent two nights together over the span of two years.

Every minute counted. And every minute in my life was either with him or thinking how beautiful it would be with him.

And now, after he divorced his wife and my boyfriend left me, I am alone.

It’s been the worst three months of my life and the tears still won’t stop. I cry in my car, at work, at home, and in the park. I just can’t get over it.

I can’t imagine life without him.

I know I sound desperate now, but I am certain that in another three months I will be totally different, stronger.

I am starting to feel so sorry for everything I’ve done and I am so afraid of letting go because I invested all my heart, my body, my mind, my soul, my soul… in him. But he doesn’t feel the same.

I keep wondering if it was all me and if he was in it just for the sex.

I hurt the people in my life and disappointed my parents, my friends, and my sister. And he wasn’t even worth it.

Still, I want him back and I imagine growing old with him. I imagine he’ll call and he’ll want me back, as I want him.

I am so tired of pretending that I am O.K. and then crying somewhere in a corner.

I want to be happy, but now I know I was too happy for two years. Now it’s my turn to wait for the pain to go away.

I am not an artist, I am not a writer, and I wish I were because my pain might then be fuel and serve a purpose.