I have been so lost with the men in my life. I am still in my marriage, and on some days, I really think I can cope with it, learn to fit into this round hole as a square peg. And then I talk to A. or C. or any of the other men to whom I am so attached. A. and I hardly talk anymore, much to my dismay. But it is also my fault, because I have made no overt gestures to try and contact him. I should, but I can't bring myself to do it. Then there is C. whom I have loved more deeply than any man in my life, almost up to my children. I wished for a very long time that they were his, that we had made them together. But they are not, and I love them anyway, with all that I am.

He was one of the only men who has ever held my heart squarly in the palm of his hand, and knew that it was there. He could have crushed me with one blow, one unkind or horrible word, and never even came close to it. When we separated, he let me go as a butterfly who was reluctant to set out on her own. I didn't want to go, but he made the passage easier, and as painless as he could. There is a reason we have remained good friends for a number of years, and part of me still yearns for the story book romance that he inspired me to seek. He is a light in a place that seems very lonely upon occasion.

Of course my husband hates him, passionately and with good reason. He knows how special C. is to me, and instead of trying to make it work as a friendship between all of us (which was very possible, C. and I haven't been romantically linked in years) he turned it all into a bitter and pointless rivalry that left me having to choose (at least superficially) him or C. I thought I was in love, and chose him, although C. and I still talk. There is a ridiculous level of jealousy that I fuel on, because he knows that I still love C. and that I will probably, on some level, for the rest of my life.

Things have soured in our marriage to the point that I find myself more and more seeking the comfort of C., in our conversations, our gestures toward one another. I do not believe for one second that he loves me the way I love him, although he does love me. But I dream about it, rekindling our romance, gaining back that level of intimacy and love that I felt so strongly with him. If he would tell me that he loved me, that he felt the same, I would go where ever he wanted me to, give up anything and everything just to be his, be by his side. Thankfully for both of us, he keeps his head, and in his ever-loving and generous way, he makes sure he is not a pawn in this ridiculous and painful game that is my marriage. He will not let me use him as a crutch, but instead will lend me a little strength when I need it. He sees this unhealthy thing festering, and knows that it is not his wound to heal. Which only makes me want him more.