Six months of almost...
Six months.
That’s all it was.
And somehow it still managed to carve itself into places in me I didn’t expect.
We were never really “mine” or “yours.” Just two people finding comfort in the spaces between real life. Somewhere between good morning texts, stolen moments, inside jokes, longing, and silence… feelings grew.
I think that was the dangerous part. Not the sex. Not the secrecy.
The emotional intimacy.
Being seen by someone at the exact time you feel invisible in your real life is a powerful thing.
But eventually reality always taps you on the shoulder.
Kids. Spouses. Exhaustion. Emotional limits. Timing. Distance.
The constant push and pull of wanting more from something that was never built to fully hold us.
And slowly, my body started understanding what my heart didn’t want to admit yet:
love or whatever version of it this was cannot survive on inconsistency forever.
I don’t regret him.
I don’t regret us.
I think we found each other at the exact time we both needed comfort, connection, and understanding.
But some connections are only meant to teach you something… not stay forever. Funny how something that wasn’t supposed to matter this much… did.