I want you. And I truly think that if you would only just put up with me, I would want to marry you.
His words were stranger than the mindfuck fiction I have recently found delight in reading. Perhaps his solution to everything was marriage. He was married at 18 afterall. Or was it 19?... Years pass by so quickly. Memories begin to blur, yet some things stay the same - as if in defiance of fast fading memory.
He was still married at the very same moment those words, all too smooth, slipped seductively through his lips.
Marriage? The last thing on my mind. Me and my delusional, grandiose and perhaps somewhat meaningless realities were not ready to walk that path. But his words made me think all the same.
And images started flowing. Perhaps I could be one of those lucky people, who end up with the person they are truly, madly in love with. I was not in love with him at this particular moment in time, but perhaps that would change. Perhaps with time I could fall. Was I ever that lucky?
No. I would probably end up, barefoot and pregnant. Waddling around town on swollen ankles in a sorry excuse for a dress which looks more like a potato sack; The highlight of my days washing soiled diapers, or searching for specials in supermarket aisles... But perhaps if I am lucky, I could find contentment in that.
Or rather, me and my delusional realities will love you always and move on - following whatever path springs up under our dainty little feet next.