Mea Culpa, mea maxima culpa.......

She was good to me. Devoted, in love and most tolerant. Yet, I left her.

Abandonment seemed to be the panacea to the incessant banter of a woman hopelessly involved in what she believed was something sincere.

None of the above turned out to be anything close to the truth. At no point in time is this to be construed as a pathetic attempt to salvage the past. It's simply a chronicle and an acknowledgement of momentary lapses of reason.

And, then there was the one that moulded me. Mind-fucked me and left a piece of herself forever embedded in the darkest recess of the mind......a place which is beyond the control of the individual. That indelible memory, like a dormant virus, has influenced thoughts and actions ever since, to the point of formulating a mindset.

That, then, is the reason why I like dusky women.

Honey dusky, chocolate dusky, glossy and matt dusky.

Through my gravest faults, I have developed a liking for sexy skin. Through my faults, I have been condemned to a lifetime of drawing comparisons. Strangely enough, the one thing that I have pined for, the singular fascination that has driven me to ridiculous attempts of desk research on the subject, has eluded me ever since.

Mea Culpa. Through my faults.

It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife.

- She couldn't have been more apt. And when I look back at the numerous aberrations in the sinusoidal curve of the journey thus far, from the overtly horny ones to "La Tentatrice Diabolique", there emerges a pertinent Index.

Desire is a bitch and the irony of it is directly proportional to the time spent in condemning the one thing you wanted but couldn't have.

Mea Maxima Culpa. Through my gravest faults.