It Speaks to Me

He'd had a mistress.

He'd always had a mistress.

She'd known this when she met him. When she'd fallen in lust and then love with him.

It had never been a secret between them.

And her desire for him was so strong, so true, that she thought she could handle it.

Live with it.

Accept it.

But in the back of her mind, in the dark corners of the unconsciousness, from the parts of her mind that seemed oblivious to conscious control, the whispers came.

He'll choose his mistress over you. Time and time again.

His mistress calls to him. Even from a distance, he hears the call. And he'll go.

And one day, the mistress will win.

And now, he was gone. Taken. A victim of that siren call.

So today, as she mourns, she faces the mistress for the first time. Face to face.

It's a formal affair, as well it should be.

White linen, flowers, music and wine.

And for today, she'll stare across the table at the mistress, and together, mourn his loss.

He was a sailor. And although through the years, his rank and title had changed, a sailor he would always be.

And his mistress, the sea.

** Just in case you're wondering what I'm rambling about now...

I was thinking today about art, and why I so love Jack Vettriano's work. And I decided today that it is because each painting is a story. The titles of his paintings leave me craving the story behind them. And so, today, I decided that I would write the story (short as it may be). Inspired by Jack Vettriano's Eulogy for a Dead Admiral.