With you, to you, I am invisible. My identity hidden beneath a cloak of labels. You introduce me, ‘my other half.’ Have I been stripped of my name now, along with my sense of self?
I want to scream, to question ‘do you even see me anymore?’ but my throat restricts around the words, keeping them as secret as my desires. My smile remains fixed in place like the champagne in my hand.
I look around the room of identikit wives. We wear our designer black dresses and diamonds like a uniform, dreary, dull, like the lives we pretend to love.
I could walk away. Be whole again without you.
I could. But I don’t.
Written for Saturday’s Stream of Consciousness Challenge. Write the first thing that comes into your head with the prompt (this week with/without) and publish without editing.