I don’t like the idea of you with anyone else.

You give me all your time, you gave me a ring, you say and do these things that make me feel like I belong to you and you belong to me. I had to let go of the Earth and fall off of the edge so many times before and wait for someone to find me below. You were the first one.

But I don’t like the idea of what happens when people promise to stay together.

After the big white dress is folded, put into a box, and thrown into the attic what happens? What is the next chapter of the fairy tale? Do I still look into your eyes and see the green light that year by year receeded me? People argue over the dishes, taxes, and how the money was spent. I don’t want that for us. I don’t ever want to hate you. The passion goes away, and the bond is tied by the focus of survival.

But I like the idea of surviving with you.

I like the idea that when we are old, and have gray hair, and move slow we can remember the times that we drove fast, the times that we got too drunk at parties and snuck away to be alone. When we made war over simple things like cleaning the house or our bank statements won’t matter. It won’t be important. We beat the odds.

And the idea of us beating the odds is something that I like a lot.