Bubba forbade many things throughout the course of our relationship:

Marriage. Children. Motivation. Desire.

Only black suits, white dress shirts, and offensive jokes were allowed. The cops could come and search our place, too — that was alright.

Picture our relationship like this for 15 years. Get comfy with it. Let it be your father holding you. Let it be a memory of your favorite Easter basket. Let it be your personal life that was half your life.

Then let it end.

And when your father sets you down, when you open your Easter basket, when the second half of your life begins today, you find out that he’s motivated to get married, be a father, and move to Texas. Oh, and there’s an actual other half already involved. She’s in Texas, married, and has a child. And Bubba is going to do more of this with her. They’re meeting each other for the first time next month.

Not with you. He never wanted it with you. He refused.

Or rather…he listened.

We (I) were (was) too handsome and selfish for a family. He was too depressed to be motivated.

Every day it killed me until it killed us and we were dying for years.

I’m happy for him in the not-just-saying-that way. The realistic and practical part of me wants to burst all of his bubbles, but I can’t. I no longer hold that place. All I can do now is ask, “What does your therapist think?” and agree.

Where we are today doesn’t change how beautiful we are to each other and how much we wish it could have worked out.

Every time I see him we end up hand in hand, staring until our eyes burn and we have to blink that first tear out. Then we cry together and kiss.

I’m not sure how much longer we’ll do this.

It still makes me feel proud to be loved by him, even if I’m not the one he wants to marry. Even if I’m not the one he wants to be the mother of his children.