I spent time carving out a home for him in the quiet spaces of my life, a sanctuary built on the bricks of my own silence and the steady, sacrificial rhythm of waiting. I was the secret he kept in a drawer, cherished only when the world wasn't looking, while I offered up every ounce of my patience like a prayer to a god who had already chosen a different temple. I loved him with a depth that felt like drowning, only to realize that no matter how many oceans I crossed to reach him, he was always anchored to a shore I was never allowed to touch. In the end, my love wasn't a bridge; it was just a long, lonely walk to a door that remained firmly closed.
Never mistake a man’s presence for his preference. If he only loves you in the shadows while he maintains his life in the light, he isn't choosing you—he is using you to supplement the parts of himself he is too weak to fix. Sacrifice is only a virtue when it is mutual; when it is one-sided, it is merely self-destruction. Do not offer the sanctuary of your heart to someone who treats it like a temporary shelter from a storm he has no intention of leaving.
Your worth is not a 'choice' for him to make; it is a truth he was never brave enough to earn.They call it a sin, and perhaps it is, but they don't tell you that sin often feels like the only warm room in a blizzard. I didn't set out to break a home; I was simply a person standing in the dark, shivering, who found a door that seemed to be left ajar. I spent years living in the hallways of his life, breathing in the air he left behind, convinced that a fraction of a man was better than the wholeness of my own loneliness. I wasn't a thief; I was a beggar who fell in love with the person who gave me a handful of crumbs and called it a feast.Before you reach for the hand of a man who belongs to someone else, understand that you are not being invited to a feast; you are being recruited to guard his secrets. I was so starved for a kind word that I didn't notice the bread he offered was already promised to another table—I was merely eating the crumbs that fell to the floor while he sat in the light of his real life. To love a married man is to agree to your own disappearance. You will spend your best years decorating a waiting room, learning to breathe in the suffocating silence of holidays spent alone and phone calls that end abruptly when 'she' enters the room. Do not mistake his 'need' for you as love; a man who truly loves you will never ask you to live in the shadows of his lies. By the time you realize you are starving, you will have forgotten how to feed yourself, left with nothing but the bitter taste of a life lived in the margins of someone else’s history.