“I want to break up.” She told me again. 

Something we go through every other week. Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand and other times it’s not.

When I first met her, I thought to myself, “How could anyone treat her badly when she’s so lovable?”

But not everyone treats someone the way they should be treated. Maybe they saw daisies and thought it was weeds? 

All I know is I found a diamond and I knew she just needed some cleaning. Patience. 

But those words, “I want to break up,” they get to me every time. My heart cringes the way a hand can crumple a piece of paper. The way a nail scratches a chalkboard. 

They hurt the way a wound hurts every time it’s spilt open again.

And yet I let it persist hoping that one day it’ll stop. That one day those words will be no more. 

That fear is all that it is. And that one day she’ll look at me and see that I’m not the man she once married. But the man she was meant to marry. 

That I’m not the one that’s going to tear her insides apart. 

I’ll leave that to the horrible recipes we’ll try together. 

But that I’ll cherish her. 

Maybe one day she’ll look at me and see, “He does want me as his wife.”

And not just because I want a wife but because she’s the only woman I want to claim that prize. 

Me. 

She’s the only one special enough to win the spot beside mine. 

The spot where she can be crowned my queen. Where I may bow down to her at times and she to me. 

Maybe one day she will see. And maybe then she’ll no longer say, “we need to break up.”

But I’ll patiently wait until that day because I know I was destined to. I was designed this way specifically for her. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be so calm every time she said, “we are through.” 

Not to say that I don’t get frustrated. Steam comes out of my nostrils and my face turns red for a second. But that second passes and I remember why she’s doing it.

And so I’m ok. 

Ok enough to know that I should continue with the phone calls. To continue on like we are still dating. It’s as if I was designed to be with her.  She is my other half. 

In a sense she is me without being me. And so I love her enough to wait. Enough to pursue. Enough to say in my mind, “if you must proceed.” 

But I’d never utter those words out loud because then it’d be like giving her permission. 

Instead I always ask her, “is that what you really want? If it is I’ll give it to you.”

Knowing and yet hoping that it’s not what she truly wants because if it was I’d fall apart. The day she tells me not to call her anymore and means it is the day I’d walk away in a trance. With fidgety hands. Shaking. Because I just let the woman that’s supposed to be my wife walk away. 

But if you love something let it go. And so I let her wander each time she says, “let’s break up.” Knowing and believing she’ll come back to me. 

Because I believe in us. I believe in her.

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