What if you had married me?
He thought he was being sweet or provocative and he cornered me with the age-old question yet again. It was too late anyway, the candles had burned out, the rain had drowned our will to persist and the music had looped around, back to the beginning and my preteen brain wandered off again, trying to understand how all of these wounded-heart people became such amazing singers to share their pain in these beautiful/ugly ballads I love to listen to so much.
I would need way more therapy than I've ever gotten thus far.
It was an offhand, knee-jerk reply and my heart immediately rose to my throat as I waited for him to throw me off the face of the earth in a rage, or worse.
And I would have gotten it for you. The offer stands.
It doesn't work. (I'm the worst patient that ever lived. Honestly, just bundle me into a cozy straitjacket, put some headphones on me and leave to rock in the corner and I'm good. Or as good as I can be, I guess.)
If you'd give me a chance, it would.
No. (Because 2019 is all about limits and protecting myself at all costs. How am I doing?)
You break my heart, Neamhchiontach.
Ditto.