Yours Truly.

The other woman.

I suppose I make myself blog about the embarassing/very disappointing moments of life because it's my way of seeking closure. And after I've closed this up, I seem to blog about it again because I can't stop thinking about it.

Or it could just be my way of telling my readers my life story without actually forcing myself to say it.

Ah, the other woman. Usually described as the person who comes along into a relationship and starts a rabid massacre. She tends to separate the two people so far apart from each other, that by the end of it they barely have any recognition that they were ever in love. She would now be the topic of conversations and the subject of rumours - basically instant fame.

All because of one small move.

Now if you know me well enough, you know that I've been there and done that. It's like going to hell and back because this situation isn't funny for anyone. No one likes to be cheated on, and no one likes to be part of it. And I told myself precisely to leave it all behind in my past.

But this is the story of my life.

And my blog is called Twisted Tragedies.

It's only right that the two relate to each other.

Yes, it happened again. And this time the offence is a little more serious. I never reveal details on this blog so there is no way you will find out exactly what has gone down, but I assure you that the effect of it is just as painful.

It was a crazy night. It was dark. It was heated. It was scary. I could not read his mind, he could not read mine. It was an act of lust and on my part, total stupidity. It was uncomfortable. It was unreal. It was haunting. It was mindless. It was heartless.

It meant nothing to me.

But there was a part of me that thought that there could be something more to this. That maybe it may lead to something worth my time. That maybe this wasn't something childish and complicated.

But hah. The story of my life is that of a Shakespearean play.

He was a liar and a cheat. I am the witness and evidence to a crime. And the most disgusting part of this, is that he is from the one part of the world that spells nothing but trouble.

Perhaps I invite trouble.

Perhaps I prefer to live on the wild side.

Perhaps I feed off the drama that becomes me.

Perhaps the only way I can have emotional contact with someone is with the lights off.

Perhaps I am always going to be ... the other woman.

Cheers.