I found her.

She's perfect. Smart, beautiful, well meaning, good in bed, nurturing, kind, feisty, ambitious, under 30, and damn sexy.

And married.

So, what did you do this week, Alfie?

Um, yeah, I broke up a 4 year marriage. No big deal, just an 11 year relationship.

Yeah. That happened. True story. Separation papers filed today. No fucking shit.

I am officially a home wrecker.

--

I feel sorry for him. Because it sucks, because of betrayal, because of slutbag, because because because.

But I don't care.

I love her.

Yeah. I said it. Er, wrote it. I am selfish and haughty and spent. And I love her. And I don't care that I hurt some dude I don't know. Or, rather was the catalyst for causing said hurt.

Maybe I was a better man once. Maybe I should be a better man now. Maybe this is all doomed to miserable failure because I'm taunting the karmic balance.

But then, this didn't happen in a vacuum. I didn't seduce some nonchalant, innocent young lady from the throes of Prince Charming. I didn't make a move physically until she was actually in my bed, as a matter of fact. No kiss, no first base, no massages, no nothing. And then she was here. And then she was mine.

This couldn't have happened if he was present. If she were in love with him. If she weren't already separated in spirit.

So, yeah, I don't really feel guilty. I feel sympathy for the other guy. I feel nervous because it is highly likely that she'll leave someday soon. I feel scared because I love her. And I feel that I'm acting more than a little foolish for having the big "L" sensation.

But I don't care. I don't care at all. Why?

Because it feels fucking great. I absolutely love being in love. It has been years, and two weeks or four months of this is worth the same in empty wine bottles consumed alone.

And yes, it will really fucking hurt when she laves me.

But I don't care. Not one bit.

--

The thing is... it's no different than any single chick. I fall in love with one of those, and they don't just have a husband to deal with, they have three ex-BFs they are still seeing and the random make-out partner every weekend. I'm not just up against 11 years of history or the chaos associated with a divorce, I'm up against a chick who isn't actually available at all. I'm up against women who feel like I'm clingy when I fucking call them to hang out more than two days in a row.

Yeah. A woman who is emotionally available almost and who has to make an all-or-nothing choice about me imminently? Hummm.

Is that really so bad? Seems... well, better, actually. Aside from the opportunity for new vagina, perhaps, which is somewhat overrated due to the general lack of access in the male population. Vagina you know is pretty much invariably better... wetter, better understood, and easier to please. Heck, if you're at all playing your cards right, she loves back, and it actually is the best of the best.

There's nothing like sex with a girl that loves you. Ok, that's not true, there's sex with a freak that loves you, which is far, far better. But I digress.

--

Yeah, I'm kinda drunk. Bite me.

--

I wonder if it's possible that she'll be mine someday. I'd like that. Maybe I'll hope a little, even though it'll probably end with tears and wine.

Maybe I like it. Hope feels... nice.