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The other woman

There is another woman betwixt us. She writhes and twists like a poisonous vine between me and him. She talks in a voice that mirrors his thoughts. She walks in a grace that he admires. She is, truly, his shadow, his companion, because she is almost everything he desires. She is the other woman.

She nurses him, when he is ill, she looks after his home, his work, his family, she feeds him when he is unwell.

What do I do? I sit at a comfortable distance, away from him, my head turned, so that I don’t have to see his pained face, and I write away my misfortune. While she serves him, I am busy stringing words into poetry or fiction.

I am the unclaimed uncharted breeze, and she is the mild, docile wife for him. I am the passion that rises in his blood for a day, while she is the constant companion in his woe.

And sometimes it crosses my mind, that this lady, so vain, so arrogant and confident that he listens to her, do I hate this lady? For coming in between us? For filling the space between our bodies that occupy the same bed? Do I loathe her?

No, I sadly can’t detest her. Even though she calls me insane, she mouths obscenities at me, yet, I can’t hate her. She thinks highly of him. She worships him. She too loves him.

So I sit, loving my man, from a distance, while she twists around him, in her loving embrace worshiping him. Hate, isn’t an emotion I indulge in. So I weave more words, more nests of emotions, patiently waiting for him too see my love. And meanwhile, she gets him.

But there is a space that she can never occupy. His mind- his ever intelligent brain cells are dripping in my memories, and she can never penetrate and dissolve those. She can never replace what I did, she can never mimic my actions- she cannot rebel. She cannot become me, and she dies of agony everyday because she strives to become me. She knows that he loves me for my wild ways and he will never love another soul like he loves me. She is dying too, because of me. I am dying too, because of her.

I live with him, and the other woman in between us, in perfect harmony. There are days when we both women wish to destroy each other, but then we know that to keep him alive, he needs her constant care, and my fiery inspiration. He needs us both to survive.

And so, we live.

The other woman.

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