It was only an affair

"Are you sure?"
"Yes."

He'd asked her repeatedly.
She couldn't figure why he cared so much.

Now, in retrospect, she really didn't have anyone to blame but herself. Though, blame was perhaps the wrong word. The way things were ceased to exist after that first time. Because well, she should've known better.

But we never learn from our mistakes do we? Sometimes we keep making the same ones over and over, until it works out, until they're not mistakes anymore.

And she never wanted any more than what they had, or that's what she told herself anyway. She wasn't sure if she'd convinced herself of the fact, or in actuality it was just that, fact. And it was only the pure idea of more that bothered her.

She didn't want more, but she drew the line at others. He couldn't very well fuck her and others at the same time. That was where she had to draw the line. Of all the mistakes, she had to draw it there. That was where she could draw it. Because, at that point, she couldn't compromise.

But she wondered still, how could she ask that of him. So she didn't because it wasn't hers to entitle. So she left.

And at the end, she wondered if she left because she couldn't compromise or if she left because she didn't want to accidentally fall for it all.

And we all wonder. What's the big deal? It's not like it was love. After all, it was only an affair. It was only an affair.

There was never any weight, was there.

Their banter was never the same, and was it worth it? Probably not, but she'd probably make the same mistakes again.