I need to move on
Not because I want to. But because I have to.
I will have to live the rest of my life wondering how successful and beautiful of a life we could have built if I had just not fucked up the best thing to ever happen to me.
I’ll mourn the little family unit we could have been - carrying the morals of his mother, and the wit of mine. Bringing into our dynamic the good parts of my parents’ marriage and abolishing the parts he dreads of his. Creating our own little bubble with a love and bond so strong to pass onto our children, and raise them with the love and freedom that we didn’t receive.
I’ll always wonder about what we could have achieved together, the adventures we could have gone on, if our kids would have had his nose or mine. If they would have shared his same adorable nose freckle and butt chin, or my tiny ears and dark hair.
I will wonder what last name we would have had for our family. Would have stuck with Hibbs? Gone with Raco? Or something different?
I will wonder about all that I could have personally achieved with someone so supportive of all my endeavours by my side.
I’ll be in my 30s, 40s, maybe even my 70s thinking back fondly about the one that got away. Constantly reminded of just how much of my heart belongs to him, and all the things I could have done differently if I’d only just listened a little harder, and loved a bit softer.
I’ll argue with myself that ‘I deserved better anyway’, and remind myself of the words, ‘if I’m too much, go find less’. But that won’t work.
It hasn’t worked for a year.
