We met through work. I was single, you were unhappy in your marriage. We laughed and loved quietly, away from public gaze; you found respite from the friction and unhappiness at home; I found a love that I hadn't felt in years.
I finished it after I made the offer of a lifeboat, somewhere you could jump ship to, and be happy, but you couldn't do it. I knew you'd never leave her; but i knew I should offer. I don't hold any grudge; but I should have fought harder. I should have insisted. I should have clung on and fought my corner.
I'd rather be alone than only have stolen moments with you. I know you're still unhappy. I know the potential of your life slips by with each passing year. I know this because your friends tell me how unhappy you are, and how you wish you had more courage. They tell me you hint at an opportunity that came your way. I say nothing in reply.
I've moved on. I've found new happiness. But not a day goes by that I don't think about that year-long summer of stolen moments.