The Conversation man

He comes to me for conversation, total concentration and the comfort I provide him sometimes. He knows that this is what he would always find with me.
Sometimes I give him apples and cheeses; I keep it simple and very "country". He brings me songs to play for him on the grand piano Edward bought me a while ago.
He sees me when he pleases - I only get to see him in places where I can mutter hello and turn away from him before his Missus realizes how much I want to see him.
I hate the fact that she removes him like a ring to wash her hands at these exotic affairs, beckoning like a royal only when she wants to show him off to her friends.
I truly want to free him. Free him from her clutches.
Strangers exchanging secrets and sharing sodas is how all this began. Sharing love stories gone awry with a friendly stranger has plunged me into something I'm not so sure of.
But I still listen to his questions and endless agonizing over his pet peeve, "does she still love me?" and I give my answers when I find the right things to say.
He says she keeps him guessing and on edge, but I know she keeps him down. Her snotty voice and uppity manners are a cover for the sham she calls her marriage. She calls him darling and turns up her cheeks to be kissed in public and when she says to him, "I love you", I don't believe her.
But I really have no right to judge those who have chosen to remain under the "honorable" blanket of marriage. I have chosen to walk another path and though I want to free him, I don't want him for keeps. It's just a bit intriguing to find a man that comes to me only for conversation; the songs I play for him; apples and cheeses.
Tomorrow he'd come to me and talk endlessly of his sorrow and ask me why he cannot leave her. He only comes to me for conversation; I comfort him sometimes.