Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.

I cannot even type a poem I am so intoxicated. But I must write; I must tell how I drank wine until my insides crackled, must speak until everyone knows that I went to "Edward's" crying. Oh, please take me away from here,  I begged. He was in his boxers, the muscles in his chest were so big, I wanted to fall against him. Please, I cried, I need you, I need the freedom you offer me. Take me. He would not, but hugged me against him, let me sleep next to him, let me cry against his chest. You will be alright, he soothed me. I will take care of you. And we fell asleep together, our hearts touching. I wanted nothing more to be his, to forget about my life as I knew it, to forget abou thow my husband promised me anything I wanted, to forget how my baby cried until I could stand the noise no longer. I wanted nothing more than to escape, and so I ran to "Edwards".
And he saved me.
And I've snuck out, still drunk, and dying for my husband. Why can I not be normal?
Come back, he softly says and leads me back into his room. You love both of us for different reasons, you need us for different things, what is so wrong with that? he asks me and kisses me on my naked shoulder. Do not feel badly for something you cannot control. I am here, don't worry. My tears stain his neck, his shoulder, his stomach. Do you not believe in me? I ask him. And he pats my head, kisses my lips. You have charmed everyone around you, he says. But I don't believe him because I'm drunk and because I miss my children and because I wish he would steal me away, and make me a part of his own fairy tale.
It is not all that easy, I say. Please make love with me. And he won't because I've been drinking.  But he doesn't understand. I need more reality than I've been given from him. If only Harry would partly fairy tale and "Edward" partly reality, my life would  be perfect. Oh God, what has gotteninto me? My children will not understand me when they are older. They will think of me as a slut, a whore, someone who could not control her impulses. How can I say to them: I love your father more than life itself, but I need another man to hold me when I'm crying?

I am not normal.
And my closing poem will have to wait until I'm sober.