Back Streets Of LondonIt's a Wednesday morning, south of the river. London still has something close to its old medieval street plans in the area around Southwark Cathedral and Borough Market. This is the world of Shakespeare's Globe. But add a la
I'm with a man who is not my husband. We have found an empty corner of these back streets. We are making out. I'm wearing a wrap dress. It wouldn't take much. I can see his hands reaching to gently pull on one of those ties. I'm a little worried. He stops himself. I don't have to say anything. It's only a fleeting moment but I can see has to wrestle with himself to put his hands elsewhere.
Despite myself I think of my husband. I can't remember him ever needing to practice restraint in a secluded but public place. I don't think he's ever had that kind of desire for me.
I've acknowledged this for some time, but it still causes a twist of grief for the marriage I wish I'd had. He cannot understand what I need, so he cannot give me what I need. And now he's an unloving jerk as well who keeps me paralysed by making my life difficult and cutting me so low I feel useless to proceed.
I want to step out from the back streets and live a life - a full life - out in the sun. Or at least as much sun as London has to offer.