Four Years is a Waste of Time.
There are many reasons I am afraid to have and raise a child. I do know that I want one, and I want more than anything to have a child and a husband that I can so solidly depend on and love with all of my heart. I want a child and someone who will love me, who will love US so much that lying is out of the question.
That being said, I am afraid I would kill myself. I am terrified that I would have a child, and at some point I would mentally deteriorate and I would fucking kill myself, leaving someone behind with questions their entire life and a dead mother who couldn’t handle the fucking world, even for them.
We never got your morning radio show.
As time goes by, you visit my dreams more often. We are always back to the way we were, but only because I hide my new lover from you. It is not to hurt you, but because I know it is the only way to have you and keep you in my life. I wake up missing you, my best friend of wonderful years. I loved you, and I wanted so much more than you did. Watching you, stagnant, was something I no longer could live with. When we became an item, it ruined so much of what we had been. We had been a force, something strong and amazing and happy. People were amazed by us. We both ruined it, but I was the one who walked away.
I miss you.