Dead.

He’s just sitting by my side, but no it’s not him. He is dead. I am sure he is. His arms are around me, he’s taking my name, he is telling me how pathetic I am. Any other day, like the days we had in our glorious past , that warm embrace would make me feel like the happiest woman in this world, but it’s not him anymore. She killed him. She stole him from me, my man. My world, actually, our world; those dreams we had weaved, the kids we had imagined, even their names, now all is lost, taken away by her.

She came in like a cloud burst, no warnings. I know my man must have tried, tried hard, but then once they started there was no coming back, she just grew upon him. I could smell her, see her taking my man away from me, but never, never he could understand my words. for him, her pleasures were way beyond the promises he made to me. He said I was the reason he had to go that way, he blames it on me. Maybe yes, I forced him into it, but sometimes I can’t believe I could have done that, yes, the same 19 year old he fell for years ago, how I was his dream come true, how I was his everything, we fought the odds to be with each other, we gave up our pleasures to have just one comfort; to be in each other’s arms.

He comes home everyday, not my man, but someone not in his senses. His blabber, his cursing, a daily ordeal. I get beaten up too, she made him what he could never be, a monster. She stole him from me. I wish I could go back and mend everything. Alas, That one taste of Alcohol.

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