More likely than not

we would be celebrating

over thirty years of marriage

surrounded by some

half a dozen children

perhaps even a grandchild or two

him smiling, satsfied,

all his dreams fulfilled,

a possessive arm

holding me close, tightly

me smiling, a brittle smile

perhaps

wondering who I might have been

what I might have done

if only

I had believed I was worth loving

that someone who dreamed

with me

might one day

love me

as I was

not bend me

to his desired shape;

probably I'd be

sunk in the morass of a

midlife crisis

trying not to regret

all the places I'd never visited,

lived, loved

the things I'd never read

studied, researched, learned

taught

firmly sweeping regret to the side

as I embraced

the only love

I'd ever known.

If I had married the first girl I “thought” I was madly, deeply and stupidly thinking I was in love with, I would either have been in a loony bin, prison or would have committed “kari-hari” or something to that effect. (Better known as Seppuku, suicide by disembowelment. Perish the thought.)

I really have nothing against the girl, but the last time I saw her, she went from 125 pounds to 380, seven kids and was on her fifth marriage.

It’s times like those when you can actually say the right move was to part company.

So where I am now is a far far better place. And honestly? I can’t even imagine now what if I had of married her what my life would have been like.

I shudder now and then just at the thought.

My bodies ashes spilled under my families favourite tree.

You see;

he had pictures of me,

he tucked them neatly under his dashboard mat,

he threatened, “They will find them when i crash this car intentionally if you ever leave me!”.

Will i be the reason for this murder suicide when they find the pictures of me?

so i left anyway.

If I went through that ritual with the boy who saved my life when we were seven years old, before we even knew each others' names or the concept of retirement, if I refused to let him go when we were 14 and 15, I would be somewhere in a tall library on the edge of a Russian college town with my laptop plugged into the outlet nearest to the back wall watching anime episodes of some gay, one-season romance and skimming lines in the corresponding manga chapter. I would be wearing glasses from years of proofreading his school reports and presentation scripts on a screen or in moving vehicles (the last minute bitch). I would have moved out of my parent's house by the time I was eighteen and established a dual citizenship so I could travel freely between my hometown and the place he and I wanted to live out our childhood spy dreams (we romanticized spies and snowy Russia beyond reason by the time we were ten).

I was always going to go to college, thankfully. If I'd married my first love, I would have done it in another country, learning one or two new languages, freezing my ass off instead of chilling at my local university. (His school scouted and bribed him to commit) I wouldn't have written all the angsty, pining, longing crap that became the basis of my craft (my first love really was love). I wouldn't have made pretentious prose such a big part of my professional brand. My personality might not be so dependent on snark and wit and tact. I wouldn't have the people around me right now, and I wouldn't have believed exes can absolutely still be friends.

Then again, would I have been able to get into a school like his? Would I have been able to keep up with the standards of another country completely foreign to me? Would I have made better art, stretched my reach further, met even better people? Would I have made my parents any prouder? Would I have such priceless friendships or my ego that I prize so much? I guess we'll never know.

I know I wouldn't have the partnership I have now, whether that be for better or worse. If I'd married my first love, romance would be so much easier than it is right now. I wouldn't worry about money or safety or life ever getting boring. I wouldn't be stressing the small stuff and I'd be focused on making the big moves I used to fantasize about when I was twelve. I'd be at my peak athleticism, still climbing, and I'd never look back farther than arms reach. I'd be an artist in different forms instead of trying to force my way into science where I don't naturally belong. I'd be cooking my meals every day and trying out new recipes all the time. I'd still be playing piano. I'd still be playing piano.

And I would have missed so many hard lessons I'd eventually learn later when the consequences are harsher. I'd never be utterly lost and disoriented. I'd never feel lonely or alone, and I would be weaker, in every sense of the word.

That's where I would be. A genius living their best life with another genius living their best life in a place where the best lives are allowed to stay the best for as long as they're pushed forward. I would be cruising, truly, never worrying about the common things.

And that's no way to live a life. I think.

Regardless, even if that's where I would be, I have no idea where he would have gone if I'd went with him. Who knows how high he would jump if he wasn't alone? I want the best for my best friend, and growing, learning, trying- those are the weaknesses he overcame by taking the left where I went right. And after all, we are still best friends. We still love each other very much, undoubtedly. I like to think I'd be high in the clouds if we'd married each other, but we can always meet there. We'll arrive when we arrive. We earn that place, not just reach it.