Getting easier

It’s been a week since someone pulled my heart out, backed her car over it and then tossed it to the Crows. But I have to say that it is getting easier. It still stings but I have a better grip on it I suppose.

My friends were very surprised when I shared with them my situation. They weren’t so much surprised that I got dumped, but they were surprised at how hard I took it. See, I am famous for concealing or downplaying my emotions. They’ve seen me wear my heart on my sleeve in many areas of my life; Freemasonry, charity work, my children to name a few. I’m not shy about sharing my feelings in most areas. Relationships are different, they are a known sore spot. My romantic struggles are well-documented. While I can’t say that it is all my fault, my penchant for crazy women has been the source of many a conversation. My recent attempts at love, post-divorce, have been messy to say the least. While I have no animosity towards any of them, there is a story to be told and I’m always the one holding the bag. But I famously and typically shrugged it off and moved on with my life. This one was different.
I was in a funk. My friends have never seen me show an emotion like hurt. I was hurting bad and they responded.

Sure, there were a few who offered the standard “fuck her”. It was well-intentioned. They knew that I’m better at coping when mad so they channeled that. Others, those who knew the situation, realized that it was a little more complicated than that, offered sage advice that I am indeed better off. Maybe I am, I don’t know. I would still like an explanation but that’s not going to happen. In absence of any contact I was forced to text my feelings to her. I kept it above board. No insults, nothing nasty at all I simply asked for more than she gave me (by text, classy fucking girl huh?) but she didn’t respond. So I finally sent one long one detailing my frustration and I briefly asserted that I deserved better and that she will find that no matter how many men she dates as she is “exploring” she will not find one that is nicer to her than I was. I know that for certain. I was very nice to her always. Her one response was to ask me if I felt better after all of that and then to tell me that “she thought we’d be friends”. I responded but I never heard another word from her.

There is no scenario in which we can be friends. I don’t need to be that guy that listens to the woman he cares about tell him about all of the guys she is fucking. That is reserved for the gay friends. I’d rather shave my scrotum with a rusty cheese grater. She chose to make us friends, not me. She doesn’t want to be the bad guy. Well fuck that, there is no way that I will ever be friends with someone who treated a genuinely nice guy, sure I have flaws, show me someone who doesn’t please) like the shit that a slug wipes off of his feet. I should have known that someone who went down on me on the first date would burn my ass eventually.

So in summation, I’m angry now. I like anger. I can channel it. And it always fades. Then she will be out of my mind. Just like that. And I have learned a valuable lesson. Listen to the man in the mirror. He knows the right thing to do.

The best revenge is living well. I plan on doing that.

Should have known better

One consequence/perk of having a ton of scars is that I have learned to harden myself to things. I have a big heart and I give of it freely but I’m ALWAYS cautiously watching for the “other” shoe to drop. Meaning, if I am prepared for something to go south I can handle it. Grief, anger, disappointment, sadness, longing, regret…I can handle all of them. I’ve been called a cold fish, I’m not. I just know how to compartmentalize. But now I’ve found an emotion that I can’t handle.
Heartbreak.

The end is finally here, the jury is no longer out on the married woman and I. Shame on me for not seeing it coming, for believing that for once I was with someone that got me, that wasn’t judgmental of my quirks and pecadillos, someone that I could be truly happy with. So I wasn’t ready when I got the text on Sunday night. I’ve been a sad, droopy fucking head case since. I hate it. Every attempt to just wash it off and let it go have failed. The worst part is that I haven’t been given the luxury of an explanation as to her change of heart. All I know is that 3 weeks ago we went on a hike and during that hike she decided that she was going to dump me. I would love to know what I did.

For a year I have patiently lent a sympathetic and supportive shoulder as she came to grips with her lousy marriage and the way her husband treats her. I knew she would eventually divorce him but I was always careful not to offer unwanted advice or try to steer her in a direction that would benefit me. I kept myself open to see her when she had the opportunity and I tried not to ask for more than she could give. All along, we talked frequently of what it would be like if we were together, post asshole husband. To my encouragement she told me that she was finally ready to go through with it. Little did I know that I wasn’t part of her plans after all. With the whiff of freedom in her path, she apparently decided that playing the field, or exploring, was the way to go. Fuck me I guess, I just came on too strong and she can’t give me what I’m looking for.

The funny thing is that I wasn’t even close to being the only intense one. She was as guilty as I about “glimpses” in which we talked of how it would be when (not if) she became a free woman. But her account now is that I was too serious and she doesn’t want to be in another “stifling” relationship. I only saw her when she wanted so how the fuck was I stifling?

I’m confused, I’m angry and I’m hurt and I don’t know how to process this. I loved her. She made me happy. Now I’m alone again and I’m beginning to think that I’m going to stay that way. It has to be me, it has to. Maybe I fall too hard, too fast and too soon. I think I suck at relationships, looking back I don’t think I’ve ever had a successful one. And now I’m gun shy. I’m going to be alone forever.

If it makes her feel better to make me out to be the heavy I guess that’s her journey. I can’t change that. All I know is that 6 months ago I broke it off because I didn’t feel right about running around with another man’s wife. The guy code and all. When I did she continually texted me, often with mean -spirited comments about how I hurt her by breaking it off, etc. How the fuck can I hurt someone who is married? Reluctantly, I started seeing her again. It was great for a while. I saw her on her terms and unbelievably, I actually said no to the sudden slew of attention I was getting from 2 or 3 other women. I chose to be only with her because I don’t like to confuse things. One person at a time and keep it simple. She even expressed jealousy over them, she called it being “territorial” and I asked her how she could be because again, she’s married.

Now I’m holding the fucking bag again. Half of me wants answers and the other just wishes that I could just forget her altogether. If only it was that easy.

See, the signs were there. The burner phone, the sneaking around on her husband. Her wanting to get together even after I withdrew my date offer when I found out she was married. If she did it to him she would do it to me. I’m not so dumb to think that it wouldn’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she already has someone in mind and she got bored with me. She definitely would have cheated on me had we stayed together. And that would have REALLY hurt.

I don’t like heartbreak. Anger is easy. Disappointment I can handle. But I don’t like being discarded like a old soiled napkin. I was too decent to her and I don’t deserve it. She obviously doesn’t give a fuck about my feelings and definitely didn’t realize just how good I was to her. She is going to recognize what she had someday and in the event that she comes back I guarantee I will not be down for that shit. Fuck me once shame on you. Fuck me twice shame on me. I gave her all that she would allow when she would allow it. Over time I gave her my heart. She returned it broken and bloody and covered with muddy footprints.

She may read this, in fact I hope she does. These are the things I didn’t have the courtesy of time to talk to her about. Nope, she just avoided me for three weeks and then broke up with me by text. It’s an indignity I have absolutely no damn clue how to handle. It hurts and I want it to stop. Now.

My conscience knew it was wrong to get involved with her. My brain also warned me. But my heart wanted what it wanted and now here I am. Please tell me that it will get easier.

Support Network


I am a blessed man, rich with the greatest commodity of all, friends and family that have never failed to be there for me when hit with adversity, of which I have faced a lion’s share.

To think that not that long ago I was seriously considering ending my life. Dialysis had finally gotten to me (depression is common among dialysis patients) and my thinking was poisoned with helplessness and despair. I just couldn’t imagine my life as it was having any quality and I was beaten down by one sickness after another. I have read some of my blogs during that time and they read like a Sylvia Plath poem, pills, hangman’s noose and loaded gun not included in the package. I’m proud to say that guy no longer exists. I have to do better, apparently many people are counting on me.

I came across this letter that I had written as part of a 30 day letter challenge. It is addressed to my best friend and it was written 3+ years ago. If anything our friendship has grown stronger. Here is the letter, I plan on sending this to him along with many others who I need to recognize as having kept me on the right side of the dirt for so long. It is part of my ongoing campaign to let the people in my life know how I feel about them while they are still here and not speaking to an inanimate slab of granite.
I hope you enjoy:

A letter to my best friend

Dear Friend:

You are on the very exclusive 3 AM friend list. The guy that I could call at 3 AM and you would come and do anything to help me. Your friendship knows no bounds, not that I am likely to test that statement.

Miles now separate us but I think of you often. Of course, you are always reachable by phone or by text. You always answer no matter how busy you are because that’s the kind of guy you are. You must worry about me because your first reaction is often “are you ok?” Sometimes I am not ok, you are correct. Sometimes I need to hear the voice of reason and reality. You always tell me the truth. And I need that. Because you’re also really smart, way smarter than me, but you would never rub that in my face.

I miss coming over for Scotch and Cigars. Pulling you away from your wife and kids so that you can have a little me time. Not to be a dick, you know how much I respect you as a family man. But between you and I you also know that she dumps the kids on you all the time and she should let you have an hour and a half distraction. That distraction is me and you thank me for it. I hate how she treats you and at the same time admire how you never say a bad word about her. You tell me what bothers you over a cigar but you never stoop to insult her, I admire you for that. It’s hard for me too because I like your wife a lot but I see what she does to you. I guess I get mad enough for both of us.

We are unlikely friends. To think that we both joined “the club” at the same time and went through the courses at the same pace and emerged best friends. It’s probable that we would like each other, but not be like brothers in 3 months. The one thing we had in common was that we were both very open people that appreciated lack of pretense and honesty. I needed a friend like you and the timing was perfect.

Since then you have supported me, visited me when I was sick, invited me to your beautiful home and listened to me as my life completely fell apart last year. You never judged me and I can’t thank you enough for that.

Please know that your friendship has sustained me during those times when I thought I had no one in my life to turn to and I hope that we continue on this path. There are things that I can help you with and know that I will with the entirety of my resources If I am able.

I hope you share my attitude that good friends pick up where they left off, no matter how much time has passed. Because I am working some shit out right now and I’m not ready to talk about it but when I am, you will be the first person I call. Until then, the phone is all that I have I hope it is good enough.

If I die tomorrow, you will go down as one of the very few people who really knew me. Many think they do but they don’t. You made the effort.

Better things

“We could do this all day”, I said breathlessly as I kissed her neck.
“All day?” she whispered. “One of us has to work.”
Just like that, as BB King once lamented, the thrill is gone. Reality comes a knocking.

It was a glimpse (my choice of terms), a semi-frequent occasion where we dare to look at a life together. A life where she is free from her abusive husband and I can be with her. A life where I was strong enough physically and financially to support us. We would have our own place. We’d watch movies curled up on the sofa with our dog. We would go places and do things as a couple.
Someday.

Today, she is still married. I believe in my heart that she is doing everything she can to leave him. Even if I didn’t believe her, it’s not up to me in any of this.
Me, I forgot during that lovely glimpse, that I am NOT physically or financially secure. At all. I’m on disability living with my mother. In addition, I’m pretty banged up physically so working is out of the question.

Still, hope prevails. We’re good together. We have chemistry. We have the same dreams and the same nightmares. We both want one thing. Better. She deserves better and she makes me better. Maybe we both deserve better.

one for the ages

This summer truly has been one for ages weather-wise. In NH we have witnessed record heat and unseasonably cold days. We have had record droughts followed by record rain fall. And this all in the month of July. The old adage is true, if you don’t like New England weather stick around a minute, it will change.

I feel really terrible for the 75% of my neighborhood, and by extension every weekender in New England. It’s rained almost every weekend. If I was one of those poor bastards who slaved away to pay for a second home only to spend each hard-earned weekend under an umbrella, I would be pissed.
Yes, I know you can’t get mad about the weather. But it still sucks.

I have a little side business that I’m trying to get off the ground. I detail cars. What started out to be a few here and there has morphed into a pretty steady flow of work. Only problem is that I work out of my driveway. 3 conditions make my job difficult; cold, extreme heat and rain. And that’s all we’ve had lately.

Consequently, I have been watching the weather app on my phone fanatically. I only wish that it was accurate. We have lake/mountain effect weather here. The weather patterns are fairly localized and are characterized by sudden change. The weather apps around here tend to err on the side of caution and predict some rain nearly every day. This makes life maddening when you are trying to schedule work. Sometimes I either fail to schedule a job or end up canceling only to have it be a beautiful day after all. Lost $$$$$$$$. Fuck.

Today, I looked out of the window of the dialysis clinic and it was pouring. I texted today’s appt asking her what her thoughts were. We agreed to reschedule. It ended up being a beauty. But hot.
Too hot.
I really can’t work in this heat.

Most of my customers know that I am a dialysis patient. As my network grows and I pick up people in different towns I suppose it becomes less common knowledge and I try not to bring it up. But when it comes to canceling a job over health concerns I’ve learned to err on the side of caution and I no longer care if I may appear to be a weather-related pussy. I have to be careful.

With 90’s predicted for the rest of the week I have already reached out to my scheduled jobs and rescheduled. Not one person cared. They get it.

I wish I could be as easy on myself as they are. Just another entry in a long line of instances in which I slowly come to grips with the fact that I am disabled, like it or not.

Perception

My recent hospital visit really played into the narrative I have recently opened; that is to say that it did little to dissuade myself that I am indeed a FUS (a fucked up shithead). It may be difficult to do so, but please don’t argue with me on this. I know what it is and the key to my functioning is to be completely honest with myself.
A myriad of emotions are bustling within me. For starters, I’m embarrassed and concerned about the long-term ramifications of my recent hospital stay. Will future doctors treat me differently based on the nature of my last stay? Will I be taken seriously in my quest for treatment of whatever malady(ies) are next for me?
Why is that my initial assumption would be that people will think less of me, especially if they are part of my circle? Am I wrong in my assumption that people just look at you differently once they hear the words “psych ward”? Why would I think that those closest to me wouldn’t understand and support me? After all, most people that I have spoken to, doctors mostly, thought very little of the details of the situation and focused instead on immediately trying to get me into a better place.
I have told more people in my blog about the details of my last hospital than I have in my circle. My closest friends know all of the details, amazingly my family does not. My and oldest daughter is my health care proxy and she and my mother made the decision not to tell my other 3 children. They know that I was in, they just don’t know the details. I suppose I will tell them when I am ready but for now I will maintain my strict policy of not making people worry about me.
To the best of my analytical ability, and I am surprisingly adept in that area, I believe that is my biggest problem and the root of many of my issues. I am not honest with people when they ask me how I am and therefore it always turns about to be a little worse than expected when I do fall.

I’ve always been a believer in the old adage “when someone asks you how you are say fine, at the end of the day they don’t give a shit”. It’s harsh but there’s a grain of truth to it. Greetings are formalities and should be treated as such. I have always taken it a bit farther when it comes to admitting that I am not doing well, I smiled and acted fine. So when I did break down it was always worse than everyone thought.
Lately, fine was not happening. I was sick and my resolve to deny that dialysis was kicking the shit out of me was gone. I reached out to my doctor’s and they didn’t respond to my liking. So I tried to force their hands to treat me medically under threat of force.

I’m not crazy, I just fucked up. But this time I hurt the ones around me. Not only do I have to carry that around with me, but the pain is still there. The insomnia is still there. The memories of the outrageous, uncharacteristic and very dangerous thoughts that ran through my mind in which I vividly imagined every conceivable scenario in which I would end my life are still there. Now compounded by an unimaginable and insurmountably heavy sense of guilt for forgetting that there are people in my life that care for me, people who would miss me if I were to commit such an act.
Maybe that guilt would be less intimidating if I finally admitted that I am not doing as great as my fake smile and false assurances would suggest. Do they even want to know what it takes for me to get out of bed in the morning?

I hope I shake this darkness and never fall down this rabbit-hole again.


It’s not you

Three powerful words from my daughter.
“It’s not you.”
I added another creamer to my coffee, took a sip and let it sink in. She’s right, it’s not a good look for me. Cheater. Adulterer. No thanks. It was then that I made the decision to end it. My daughter always keeps me on the straight and narrow. I trust her for the truth. And there I had it.

She’s known about my relationship from the beginning and knows all of the details. She kept quiet at the beginning because she wanted me to be happy. But she had an opinion waiting for me. When I told her that I was feeling conflicted and was thinking about ending it she put it right in my lap by calling me out on my character. In a way only she could. Blunt and to the point. And also correct. That’s not who I am.

I ended it, whatever it was, yesterday. It was heart-breaking. We had spent some really special times together. We had real potential as a couple, if not for one minor detail.
Her husband.

I did it by text. Texting is all we have had lately. She works full time and isn’t around for me to see her on weekends. Those rendezvouses we had, fleeting and precious, were few and far between. While I didn’t use the words “break up” she knew where I was going with my words. As if she was expecting it. Just like that, it’s over. We wanted it to work, we really did. But there was just no way. At least not now.

I can’t believe what I just threw away in the name of “doing the right thing”.

A person who thinks and acts along Grey lines may have been able to pull this off. I tried to be that guy. The Grey lines guy. Who practices “relative morality”. It was a perfect situation for that. They were unhappily married. He was horrible and controlling in everything he did to her. Grey lines guy could rationalize all of it. I can’t.

I’m not black and white in everything that I think and do. But I have a firm grasp on right and wrong. I believe in codes. The Guy Code, for example, which clearly states that you do not fuck another man’s wife. I may not know him personally but I respect him enough to honor the code. It’s tragic that he is too ignorant to see what he has before him.

She’s amazing. If I actually thought I had a chance with her I’d fight with the strength of 20 men to get her. She always deflected but I think she’s beautiful. We were wildly attracted to each other, when allowed we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We shared so many interests and activities. We liked the same music and movies. We waxed poetic about the things we wanted to do.
Be seen together in public. Go for walks. Socialize as a couple. Snuggle on the sofa. Watch silly movies. And of course see each other whenever we wanted to.

None of it could ever happen and I began to realize that unless I saw some serious signs that she was actually able (she was willing, we talked about it) to leave her husband then it was just unfair to all involved to continue. She needs her husband right now for what he can provide. Things that I can’t.

So it has to be this way. Love is just not enough…

no regrets and no hurry

I had a woman I was dating recently tell me that I talk about my ex too much. It was a deal breaker for her. She was the type (I’ve never met another quite as adamant about it) that didn’t talk about the past at all. She felt it accomplished nothing. Of course, with what I know about her she has some good reasons not to relive her past or some of the people in it. As for me, if you have read even one of my posts you will know that I talk about my past ad nauseum. It, and the people in it are a part of me and help to explain the person I am today. My past is my story, it explains everything about how I act, react, feel and think about everything. My ex is a huge part of my story, how can she not be? I spent almost 26 years of my life with her.
But I don’t talk about her because I’m hung up on her. I’m definitely not. That’s where my past lady friend got it wrong.

My new lady is more accepting of my ramblings. She knows that it is part of my process of moving on. Plus, through the benefit of my ramblings she gets frequent opportunity to shake her head in the best of “what the fuck” mannerisms. Some of my marital stories have that effect on the unindoctrinated. She has heard enough to know that my marital reality is that my ex and I are better off divorced. No threat of reconciliation there.

This post is not about my ex. We have a fine relationship now. We get along. I’ve moved on from anger, blame and remorse. She, for her part is quite comfortable with never accepting any blame, responsibility for her actions and anything resembling accountability at all. I’ve moved on from trying to understand. It’s over. This post is about Divorce.

I know a LOT of divorced Men. Some single and many with families. A lot of them have simple regrets, you know the ones, like not fucking the babysitter or new receptionist at work. Others have been through long, drawn out and messy situations. It surprises me how many of them wish they were still married. They wish they weren’t divorced. I couldn’t disagree more.

I like being divorced.

We weren’t good for each other, we get along fine, I have an amazing relationship with my children, and we have each gone on with our lives.

The other camp, the ones who say shit like “I wish I never met her…” , well their argument doesn’t apply to me. I could never say that, if not for marrying her I wouldn’t have 4 amazing kids who mean the absolute world to me and have validated my existence like no other accomplishment I could ever point to.

There are many reasons I am glad I am divorced. I have no-one to answer to. I do what I want. I buy what I want. I am no longer (neither is she) handcuffed by crippling debt. The kids are grown and my relationship with them is more that of a friend and the giver of only solicited advice. On a unique note, I no longer have to deal with the soul-crushing weight of watching someone spiral hopelessly down the drain of mental illness.

I like relationships. I have no problem, in fact I am quite comfortable with monogamy and fidelity. But I am in no terrible hurry to get into another. In fact, the fuzzy nature of my current situation is amenable to me. While I’m incredibly interested in the (married) woman I have been spending time with, I am in no rush to take things to the next level. The fact that she has a whole lot of things to take care of should she take leave of her husband (no guarantees and speculation from me at this point how long it will take if it does at all) doesn’t scare me. I’m not going anywhere for a while and I can wait and see, within reason, what happens. She may be feeling some pressure to move things along but if she is worried about losing me in the interim it shouldn’t. I really care for her and I’m not a shopper. If I like something I stick with it. It’s not like the remote theory, you may be watching a show but constantly search to see what else is on.
That’s not me. Some of my needs are being satisfied. It may surprise you that a good conversation, a nice dinner, the hug and kiss of a beautiful lady and the knowledge that someone cares about me actually go a long way with me. And these can keep me going for a little while more.

I’m a romantic who doesn’t mind being divorced. I can look at it as a failure, because it was, but it isn’t the end of me. The old me. The one that believed in love. He’s still in there somewhere. That guy is ready for a new life.

Eventually

that look

I was once at a black tie event. As I stood nursing a Scotch a coworker gave me a gentle nudge and she pointed to a man that I did not know.
“See?”, she said. “Look at how he looks at her? It’s like she’s the only one in the room.”
Once she pointed it out it was hard not to notice. In a sea of people, laughing and joking, Tracy’s husband was fixated on her. Every hair toss, every sip of champagne, every polite laugh and smile…he hung on it. Without saying a word, he told the entire room that she was his entire world.

I know the look. As a dedicated and professional people watcher I look for such things. It’s strictly voyeuristic you see. Noone had ever captured my fancy to such a degree. I have always craved someone that would stand out in a crowded room. Not because they are the most interesting and beautiful person in the room, just because they are to me. I never thought that guy would ever be me. Until now.

“I love the way you look at me,” she said. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to, I knew exactly what she meant. I looked at her like she was the best thing to happen to me. I looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered. I looked at her as if she was the only one in the room when in fact we were in a crowded room. It was strange and wonderfully refreshing to be the one doing it for a change, as I had resigned myself to forever be the one watching another do it. Finally, it was my turn.
I pulled her close, reveling in the surreal moment. Is it luck? Or do I dare say that I deserve her? I don’t know. Just as our relationship lacks labels, it also defies explanation. Just as I can’t explain all of the natural phenomena that go into creating a brilliant sunset on a summer evening, I don’t have to in order to enjoy it.
I can’t explain you. I can’t explain us. I’m just grateful that I have finally experienced looking across a crowded room in pure adulation, wishing I was with you but secure in the knowledge that you will be leaving with me.
They can stare all they want. You’re with me baby.

the Heart comes first

We’ve all heard it. “The heart wants what the heart wants”. Never has a truer and more powerful statement been made.

If you read me you know that I met a girl. It might not sound like a big deal to the average person but I don’t meet a lot of women. Mostly due to the fact that I had very low esteem after my tumultuous marriage and subsequent divorce from which I emerged beat down and with little confidence and less desire.

It’s hard to explain the powerful feelings that overcame me when I first saw Lisa. It felt urgent, I just had to meet her. It was surreal how powerfully I was drawn to her. Her smile melted my toes and her voice became etched in my brain. I suppose the word smitten comes to mind.
So I made a move.
In order to not get her in trouble at work I slipped her a note, the plan being that I would make sure I was in her lane (she is a pharmacy tech) and slip it to her when noone was looking. And that is where it gets tricky. As I handed the card to her I noticed the wedding ring for the first time. I tried to pull it back but she wanted it. She opened it. She texted me later. We talked. We laughed.
I proceeded against my better judgment and moral code, as did she. Knowing that it may not end well we began a relationship that may possibly have been doomed from the beginning but we both want to see where it goes. As luck, good or bad depending on your vantage point, we now have very powerful feelings for each other and there is no turning back.
The heart wants what it wants.

I am very conflicted. My morals kept me from cheating throughout the entire course of my marriage despite being very unhappy. I never touched a woman, especially one in a relationship because it isn’t fair to the man. Yet here I am. There’s no fault to attribute to anyone. I should have checked to see if she was married before I made a move and she had admitted that she didn’t help the situation by accepting the note when she knew that it would only open a can of worms. Despite them being extremely unhappy, her husband is a misogynistic brute who treats her terribly, I know that it doesn’t make it right. But I’m addicted. And she is to me. The chemistry we share is beyond words.

We try to behave when together, to keep this realistic but we can’t keep our hands off of each other. Despite the tractor beam that is our attraction, we also have so much in common. Long, deep conversations have revealed so many things in common from movies to music to pet peeves and hopes for the future. As for the true test, yes we can also sit in absolute silence and not need to say anything at all.

Now we face the ultimate challenge. She has made concrete steps towards leaving her husband. She has told him how she feels and is trying to plan where to go and what to do should she move out. In this area I’m not the best fit for her. I don’t have my own place and I can’t support her financially. Is love going to be enough? But I would do anything to be with her. She is what I have been looking for the longest time and I really can’t imagine my life without her already.

I wish hope and desire equaled good results. I want her. I need her. I hope that I deserve her. I really think that I do.

This is crazy and ill-advised but it feels so right.

The heart wants what the heart wants, after all.