My father claims my mother had numerous affairs. That some days, she would get up and leave our house, to go live entirely different lives, lives which to us were insensate.
I don’t know if this is true. Sometimes she’d take me to office buildings, or parks, or even grocery stores, and I remember her words running beyond my understanding. The impressions of advertisements, faces. But I remember no infidelity.
I am facing this adult chasm, with authenticity on one side and morality on the other, because it’s not ok to run away when you are monogamous.
My last partner tells me that when I left all those times I caused damage he only realized much later, and I believe him. I struggle too to know why leaving was necessary when return was so possible.
The only answer I have is a primordial vision, of a man venturing out of a cave. He doesn’t go to find anything, or anyone. He just goes to take the space, to consolidate his footing, and to feel slow exhaustion of mind syncing with body.
I mused 