On his wedding night, all I can think about is the glint in his eye. I imagine him entering the room tonight. His new wife, the one he so easily, so sporadically began calling the love of his life, kneeling on his bed. I can taste his palpable excitement, his patient smirk as he goes through the plans he must have made to give his sub… HIS sub in every sense of the word for perpetuity… their perfect night. I can see him touch the black and gold necklace he locked around her neck in a ceremony earlier today, a collar that is so socially accepted it will never need to be disguised.. his collar. I imagine him lifting her bowed head with a finger on her chin, her eyes raising up to his, drowning in sheer devotion. She deserves every bit of him, I know that. After all, she waited a decade for him. I know she will take care of him, she will keep him happy. And that brings me immense relief.

But I’m wrecked with selfish questions. I only met this man once. How is it then that I can imagine every expression crossing his face? What is this irrational feeling, so shrouded in delusion and despair? Why do I feel it for someone I do not really know, and never will? What am I to do with having met him only to lose him in the same breath? Why did I meet him at all?

I’m beyond grateful for his happiness and her success. But, if I allow myself, six insipid words bellow loud inside my head like a foghorn, pounding a question I have no answer to - What do I do about me?