“i did what lovers of married men have done for centuries: i believed that he’d leave her, eventually, he just needed time. and things between us were great, really, intense and clichéd, but great. meetings in expensive hotels. phone calls worth thousands of euro. rituals. mix cds. i was so blinded by it all, that i even stayed at the family home when his wife and kid were travelling. one day, it would all be fine, i thought.

one day however, after four months of bliss, of living the grande thing, it all fell apart.

his other lover had found my weblog and my flickr stream. no, not his wife. his other lover.”