I might have always wondered,
about how you men feel,
but I never thought about how you make us feel.
Just yesterday,
a guy at work came up to me,
and truly out of the blue said, "I love you".
Three words that could melt a woman's heart,
and make her so vulnerable,
and at the same time put her on top of the world.
Yet, what if these words were uttered by a married man?
Do you have any idea how this would make a woman feel?
How do you think she’d feel when a married man says this to her?
Excuse my french, but it makes her feel like slut!
A whore!
A bitch!
A marriage and home wrecker!
An evil witch!
And all these words can never adequately describe how he made me feel.
He made me feel so low and so cheap!
Yes, cheap! Cheap! Cheap!
How could you men do it so easily?
How could you men so easily undo us?
Do you enjoy it?
What was he thinking?!
Tell me! How do you men feel when you say such words?
Do you ever mean it?
What if it shows in your eyes and voice?
How do you men fake it so well?
Or do you enjoy conquering us?
What about the woman you swore to cherish for life?
To be faithful to and come home to?
Did she ever cross your mind?
Did you ever think about how much it would hurt her if you uttered such words to someone else but her?
Why do you men shame us and torture us so ruthlessly when uttering such a phrase?
How could a feeling so sacred,
one that marks the essence of our existence,
disgrace us and be the same root of our misery?
He said it repeatedly,
and each time something sweet was slaughtered.
Yes, something sweet was slaughtered.
And I was numb, frozen and petrified.
I felt like I had killed his wife,
wrecked his family,
and burned down his home.
I only came to when someone else came and asked me,
"Hey, are you shaking?
And your eyes are all watery.
Should I turn off the AC?"
I just nodded but I couldn't move.
I couldn't say a word.
I was the last person to leave the office that day.
I wish he knew how he made me feel before uttering such words.
Words that wiped away anything beautiful that has ever happened between us.
I wish he knew, so that he would have shut his mouth before he shot three innocent souls and killed everything that is beautiful.
He converted me into a disbeliever.
He converted me into a sinner.
And just like those two people who sinned long ago and were turned to stone,
I, too, became one.
He killed me.
How could I then pretend that it never happened, and look him in the face every day?
How could I talk to him, write him, or even share the same office, same street, or even the same world with him?
Whenever I look at him I see an image of his wife and I just can't help but feel that my hands are dirty.
How could you rape a woman by a mere thought, word, or look?