I will not make the mistake of thinking I am the one. The only one you care to be with, the one with whom you enjoy time best. We are not new to one another. You have met me before, when you met your fine wife, when you met your, oh, so adored, last summer’s great lover. We are, indeed, not new to one another. Neither will I make the mistake of thinking you are that one. The one and only I would like to be with, loose track of time. I have met you before, when I met my dear husband and my, oh, so very attentive last summer’s glorious lover. I know, I am aware, awake and I know. Yet, despise all this grand understanding, I will not stop me from wishing on being to one another that one, to wish for the, oh, so very addictive monopolised affection, nightcap and morning coffee without intersection. I am aware, though, awake and I know that I am, just, the momentary distraction and you are, just, the warmth for the time being, or at least, until the thrill is gone and we both move on.

Lovers. Short-story from “12 o’clock-tales” (The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)

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