I've been unfaithful. You know this. You've forgiven my small transgressions, ignored my stumbling in hours late, cold dinner on the table. You've forgiven me because I've made sweet beautiful fic to you even with HP's, Lost's or Smallville's lipstick on my collar.
I have needs. You should be enough for me. I know this. I'm weak.
I keep telling myself that I'm just going to drive by her house. Not stop, not go in, and then three hours later I'm lying in a pool of my own sweat, the sheets rucked up. And Smallville sits on the edge of the bed, pulling a robe over her glorious shoulders that I could kiss right there, just right there. Don't cover it up, baby, just don't. She glances over at me, smiles, and says, "It's late. She'll miss you. You'd better get back."
And she's right, I should. But I look at her as she lights up, leans against the headboard, runs one finger across her calf...and a few more hours pass before I'm struggling to line up the buttons on my shirt, hands trembling.
I've broken so many promises to you, missed anniversaries, the kids' birthdays. You've got every right to throw me out on my ass. I'll understand if you do, but the way you look right now with the light fragmenting through the window, the slight upturn of your mouth, you're just so damn beautiful it hurts. I could just fall down on my knees, wrap my arms around you, smell you through your robe. Put down your coffee, the kitchen table's right there...Oh yeah, I could never leave.