The Other Woman

Sitting in her dark room with nothing but the vanity lit, she looked at her naked skin, wondering if she was as beautiful as everyone else seemed to think. 

Picking at every flaw  from her eyes to her teeth. 

She put on her low maintenance makeup, and she began to think of how tonight was like any night, a night of socializing and being the only woman at the party with no one to hold on to. 

Seeing all the women with their arms wrapped around their lovers’ arms, she knew she would walk in beautifully yet pitifully with no one to entwine arms with.

She wore a tight fitted dress that hugged her curves in every direction, and gripped its metaphoric hands around her waist to hold it all in place. 

She was the star of the show with her matte lipstick and fitted dress. 

As she walked through the entrance of the event, the room grew silent. Almost like her aura or beauty told them to hush, and if it did then they listened.The women and men gawked at her, they scanned their eyes from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. She was tempted to put her head down in embarrassment since all eyes attached themselves to her. 

She had beauty that everyone respected. No one forced her to talk, in fact no one listened. No one expected her to speak and say hello, in fact they would speak and say hello first. She was not given the chance to approach because she was always approached. And I know it sounds like the best thing, If someone would come up to you all the time and you never have to speak first that would make life so much easier…right?  But it made life hard because who did people see her as, just a beauty, just someone with no one, or someone with no opinion, no choices,no options,no words, nothing! Not a single thing!. The worst thing is that She did not have beauty to light up the room, but the beauty to take it over and yet appealing to the ego, but damaging to the soul since everyone wanted to dominate what she carried.Truth is, she knew she could get anyone she wanted but she did not want just anyone no matter how lonely she was. They would all show her off as a trophy and whisper around how they were with her. 

Nonetheless, she liked the thought that she could have anyone. Is it not about having confidence to walk around knowing anyone could yours?

That night at the banquet she met a man and his wife. She, his wife Leah, was a beautiful woman with pure looks, and her smile was a smile that lit the soul. And the man had a look that was the same– like grace, full of warmth, and full of light.

Leah and her husband complemented each other's zeal. Paramour smiled impassively,

looking at their joy. She wanted the same parallel, but it seemed hard to come by.

Yet, whenever she would meet a man, they would not want her to speak. 

They would only want to watch her, to look at her, and to touch her.

He was different. The moment  she met him, she felt something different, something new.

She wasn’t a trophy; She was hidden in plain sight.

It made her feel special to not be known, but to be someone's delight.

Yet,her man had a beautiful lady to go home to.

 She wondered why she was straining her heart for a man that was not hers, but someone

else's–for someone with a wife.

She wondered why would he want to do such a foul thing to someone who dedicated

their life to him. “Why give it up for me?”

A woman with such a pure soul did not deserve anything like that. 

However,  he made paramour feel seen.

He could not take her out in public and make her perform.

He could not tell anyone about her and him, so no one knew.

And when she could see him, they would talk for hours.

 He would touch her delicately; her heart and her body.

He did not rush her like the other men, and he looked at her like she was something

beyond her outside beauty. 

But she was just another woman, The other woman, behind closed doors.

 She did not want to be a trophy, but she wanted everyone to see how she matched with 

her guy the way her guy matched with his wife.

 When he would leave,  she would kiss him goodbye. 

In time, she would push her body against the door, glide down, and cry. Letting her ugly pry out of her. 

Her mascara ran from her eyes, painting her face black and her dress becoming all

dusty from the floor.

When he would no longer call or answer she would cry herself to sleep, and lay in the 

bed waiting for the next time she would hear from him.

Before she knew it,  she had risen from her bed and decided she was going to move on.

                                                                …

Soon her phone would begin to ring, and ring, and ring.

She watched his name frozen on the screen, one call, one text after the other.

She looked at her phone through her glass tears,  grabbed her heart and wailed in pain

until he would finally decide he was coming over. 

He would  knock on the door, and if he got no answer, he would knock… and knock….

and knock.

Knowing eventually, she would answer the door, whether she wanted to or not.

She opened  the door, and saw him standing there with a large gift, and a bouquet of

flowers.

 As always, he was wearing his bright, warm, tender smile.

 She let her eyes gently lower and ease from all the pain of him being gone.

 She looked into his homey-like eyes, moved out of the way, and let him in again.