If only she knew how much I love you. How much it hurts that you, that we, are not acknowledged. How you are regarded as some disposable piece of detritus. How fickle and worthless she believes my love for you is.
She had no piece of paper, no recognised validity save what she and my partner felt for one another. She was a guest in my home–the home of a woman she hardly knew–but it was also her boyfriend’s home and she knew him a lot better. My lack of trust was understandable, acceptable even, but that didn’t make it easier for her to handle.
Open comes from old english/anglo-saxon openian meaning to open, open up, disclose, or reveal, but it also meant “exposed, evident, well-known, public,” often in a bad sense, “notorious, shameless.”
They were once my family, I was not born to them but I chose them. How foolish I have been to think that I am healed, that I am whole. There is always more to work on. More wounds to re-open. So as I saw them, I remembered how much I love him, and how much I still miss him.
Successful threesomes might have many components, but I would boldly state that the best way to ensure satisfaction is through good communication. Yet sitting down to discuss boundaries and consent with long term partner(s) with whom you hopefully have an enviable level of honest communication, is the easier part. It is not so easy to communicate with that spontaneous person you meet at the club, who agrees to participate in fun and games with you and your partner(s) for a one-off encounter.
I think about it. I think about it all until I am exhausted. And when my mind has no reasons, nothing left, all I have is my love, my loss and my grief. My heart breaks and out of the shattered pieces comes still more love for him.