Utter the word “affair” and watch people run for cover. Utter the word “divorced” and “affair” and sit back and watch the fireworks explode.

I am divorced and had an affair. I should just sit back and hear the collective intake of breath of the women, over their sehris, their hands digging into their solatire engagement rings, the men, sitting up straight, their morning gotten a bit more interesting.

He was the closest thing to a soul. Is the closest thing to a soul mate. A connection like no other, I didn’t even know he was married, well because next time I need to check peoples facebook walls! Clingy and posessive she was, or so he said. A fact, 11 months later I can see as she tags him on everything, corrects his mistakes on food forums, takes his side in a virtual online battles of facebook forums. And I laugh. I chuckle. He won’t leave her. They have a two year old child. Days spent in a haze of visceral despair, sitting across him, begging “pick me, choose me, want me.”

To look across and watch the expression of yearning, desire, want mirrored in his eyes. To just break, 11 months down. To keen. A soundless wail.

And to live. To travel the world, to write, aunt to two wonderful children, and to make mark in my business.

I do it all, but he is always on my mind.

The letter he sent, the days are terrible, the nights full of loneliness. Or so he said. The pins I carry as reminders, the twonie.

Haruki Marukami once said, memories warm us up, but also tear us apart.

I am torn apart. But I wake up in different cities around the world, lace my joggers, and run. Or sit with a sleeping niece in my lap, counting her breathing. And I choose to live, broken, keening, shattered soul.

But I choose life.