Last night, I prepared the room for the two of us,

fresh red roses beautifully arranged on top of the side table-

beside the bed,

scented candles warmed the room,

sweet music serenaded the night

and “romantic desires” perfumed the air inside

but I slept alone.

He arrived the next day,

almost five in the morning

everything inside the room had died out,

myself along with my desires,

my longings

“Happy hour with the boys,” he said.

I wailed like dead waves on a sea,

Hit the shore and relished my recoil

“There will be better days,” I said to myself,

I’ll laugh together with unhappy wives

exhaust myself-

numb the pain

after all, the night was not really for him-

it is a gift i shall offer to my little angels,

my children

I am no wife,

just my children’s mother.

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