When you fall in love with another woman’s man, you curse fate and shake your fists and scream at the sky. If only you had met him first, you’d be living out At Last by Etta James. But you didn’t, so you’re trapped in a Sylvia Plath poem.
It was the strangest thing. It had never happened before. It has never happened since. The instant I fixed on his peculiar eyes I knew he was the greatest thing alive. I wanted to spend all my time just looking at him. I’ve known handsomer men. I’ve known cleverer men. But I was addicted to his jokes and his beautiful face.
Love is the drug. I was completely off my tits…
EMILY HILL 