Not the loves of my life, more like the cautionary tales of my poor choices. My appetites working to lead me into the arms of the dangerous.
With time, I have come to view them as they are. Flawed, like most of us. Good hearted, but reckless. Thrill seekers who fight personal wars against their own demons. Women who still see the world like little girls, the good and the bad.
The first was in my youth. A beauty of infinite jest. A merry maker that sometimes found that party in a bottle. She was sweetness and sexy and almost made me give up who I was, just to be with her. She rarely is on my mind anymore, but if I catch a spring breeze just the right way, the scar still aches a bit.
The next was my undoing. A glutton for risk, a sugar-sweet poison that I grew an unnatural taste. The time with her was short, unwise, and ultimately took everything from me as penance. We were both damaged in this moment. Her ghost still haunts me at my weakest moments. My poorest life choice, leading to the end of chapters I still thought I had time to write. I was wrong.
The third (thus far) was part illusion, or so I have convinced myself. An obsessive crush that allowed my guard to drop just enough to give her leverage, advantage. Born out of innocence and friendship, leading to avarice and betrayal. I still am left with a lack of understanding what enraptured me to such a point of self-destructive madness. An unrequited lust built on false-flags and hidden agendas. This one still pains me, as the wounds only now have healed. And I still hope she finds a path that lets her free of her battles and leads her to a happiness free of her reflexive tactics of lies and subtrifuge and survivor-selfishness.
I am not innocent, I played my part in these pairings. My choices driven by neglect, stress, mental weakness.
But these three women have been invaluable teachers of life, consequences and personal accountability.
For that, I am nothing but greatful that our worlds collided.