In life, after trying the Gas, I kept quiet waiting for the right one, the quiet one ready to share a life together.
Four years ago I met again a person I had known since my adolescence, he immediately began to underline the understanding between us and started waiting for me to realize that he was the answer to all my questions.
It took me a year to figure it out, a year of various dates that didn’t give me anything and in fact I went back to him who I saw as a friend but who I later realized I wanted as a boyfriend.
We begin our love story, nothing overwhelming and passionate, always with the train pulled because he who had waited for me so much was dissatisfied with his absent working life and too busy studying for competitions.
The covid arrives and we overcome the forced distance, summer arrives and I’m going to live alone and we start this coexistence in half.
Months go by, his frustration increases but he said that only in me did he find the light to move forward, the competition passes, he finally has the longed-for permanent job and despite the precariousness of my job we talk about definitive cohabitation and marriage.
In October he tells me that he is in crisis with himself and that he wants a break from the break he decides to leave me but keeping me tied to him saying that he was confused, for three whole months he tells me that he sees a colleague as a pastime but that he continues to think constantly about come back with me.
Last week he confessed the whole truth (is it true?): he has a parallel relationship since this summer, when he left work and said to go to his house (where his parents live) in reality he went to b&b with her.
The world fell on me and I’m struggling to recover, how can you trust if your little quiet love is actually the great sexual love of another?
Esther Viola’s answer
there is a big misunderstanding here. Let’s talk about Paq, but it’s not like you get someone who is calm, reliable, similar and predominantly present when it comes to being in a couple and you think your heart has become a title of steel in a triple A Chinese bank.
I can’t believe it: are we going back to loves and guarantees? Even the altar boys betray is a conclusion of high school. How did it get away?
Let’s go back to our twenties.
The first blowout is never forgotten. Do you remember? We lost our heads, then we lost everything and not even dignity was spared. Certain angry/punitive/recriminatory messages. Then more desperate messages sent after 11pm. No response. She had another. Infinite mourning, much more infinite than those of the Achaeans. How flayed, vilified one feels, how one took this nasty matter of the horns personally.
O nature or nature, why do you deceive your children so much.
The day after. The alarm clock, still no answer, it’s over. Coffee, we have to resign ourselves, it will pass. Let’s wait. It doesn’t pass. Background by Tiziano Ferro how-is-useless-raving and the chorus of “you did well, you’ll find another one soon” of the friends.
(I don’t know about you, I didn’t want to do the right thing, I wanted to feel better. I didn’t want to find another, I wanted to feel better. No one died of love except me).
You go on only to understand each other less and less. There was no defense, then and never would be. There was something to learn.
Gets better? Yes. And how does it improve?
Being cheated on becomes less and less the worst thing in the world.
Because we have already said that the betrayed has little or nothing to do with betrayal. No one is special enough to slip away forever. Betrayal doesn’t fill quality shortcomings, it’s independent, it’s on occasion. The next betrayed will be the one he’s with now. I can sign a protocol sheet for you, if needed. No distinction of gender, however.
There is no constitutionally guaranteed happiness. There is no happiness locked away. There is no happiness with PNRR. If you want happiness you take the fragile one we all have. It makes holes, it jams, it gets ruined. Here is your happiness, do you want it? Take care of it as farmers take care of the land: without promises and without waiting. Why then does it hail and what happens? The end of Anna Karenina?
However, allow me to be baffled once again by the desperate absence of my favorite monosyllable, in the things of the world that happen to females: me.
Where did you leave it? How are you? What does it do? Do you travel, read, are you happy with your job?
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