At first, you don't see it coming. At first, the depths of your feelings are lost in the frivolity and the levity of your friendship. In the beginning, you're so certain of your existing love that you cannot believe you'll fall over or out. You believe that your sense of righteousness and virtue would bond you. But you are human, fallible, and perhaps, not half as glorious as you assumed yourself to be. So slowly, you give yourself away, secret by secret, pain by pain. Moment by moment, day by day you witness yourself fall for another man and you hate yourself, you loathe yourself but you are at a slippery edge and you can't stop falling. And then you slowly start seeing signs of the impending catastrophe but you are already enjoying the stolen time, the time you are not accountable anymore, the time you can be someone else and you let it be. 
And in those moments, being happy becomes more important than being saintly. The jaunty conversations get breezier than the restricted life you feel you're trapped in. You taste freedom all over again. And at that moment, there is indeed a sad realization, a pin at the back of your mind which tries to pop your bubble of newly found zeal but you've gone far along, haven't you? You know you can't hold on anymore. It is in your sane observation that in making another happy, you'll have no choice but to make yourself sad. And in one guilty moment, you'll fall off the deep end, let yourself be drowned in the dark blue of oblivion and pleasure, merriment and gaiety, fine wine, and cheap street food. And even before the skin touches the skin, you'll know in your mind: you're gone.
You've vanished in plain sight. You'll accept with a tear in your eye that even when you find the most desirable man, your eye still wanders.
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