There we were. Young and free. Lovers who did as they
pleased. We did everything together. But managed to be our own. Remember that
one time we were able to travel all along Europe from just hitch hiking?
Remember when there were nights we wouldn’t get picked up and would have to
sleep on the roads? There was that one night I still remember like the back of
my hand. You turned around and looked at me and told me you loved me. This wasn’t
a normal I love you. You mounted me and said it again and again. I love you, I
love you. And that’s when you said those four god damn words. You stared at me,
waiting. I loved you so much so I uttered yes. I told you I wanted to be your
wife. We made love that night. You said it again, I love you, I love you. I’ve
never seen you so happy and full of life before. Breakfast. French. Love. Art.
Everything was me. Always around. Touching. Needing. Wanting. Day after day. I
hated it. You weren’t you anymore. So I left. I walked, I got into cars, I
walked. I cried. I screamed. I yelled. I grieved. The biggest mistake I made
was marrying you.