This month, my name is Mary.
Every month, Joe tells me a different story, and every month, I listen. He doesn’t know that I imagine myself the star of his every one-night stand, and how could I tell him? I’m a married woman, after all. All Joe and I will ever have is imagination. All we will ever be is fiction.
I know this is wrong. I know I should stop before it goes too far. What I have learned from love is that you can’t always fix what is broken, but sometimes, you can survive it.
I’m just not sure I can possibly survive knowing Joe.
connected stories
