dark horse with cork bits

"That vase needs more water for your roses," he said, dragging his feet as he got up.

"Yes, they do," I agreed, distracted by my phone.

"They're your roses," he added. 

He got them for my anniversary, the day I returned from a peaceful, different but familiar valley; from a place where I wanted to stay, never to return.

I feel guilty as all hell and he may have had two glasses of this red wine but so did I, he thought I was being playful-tidy but I was trying to kill the possible egg while trying to drown the guilt I'd contracted from only thinking about doing something, but not actually doing something.

I feel awful.

He would give up his dream of a garden if only to live with me and my dreams of rooftops. I was afraid telling him I didn't want any, ever, would drive the wedge between us, but, he is too good. He is too good for me and I love him so, but I don't believe we are meant for much longer.

Every time I say "I love you" to his face, though, I mean it. Every time I say that that will never change, I'm being homest.

No matter what happens, as e.e. said, I will carry him in my heart. Always. That will never change.

But maybe that small memory of him is all I'm meant to take with me.

I don't know. He would follow me to the ends but I don't want that for him. His eyes would grow dark and sad. I would rob him of his future.

I just don't know.