confession #3 (the end, but not really)

I love this man.

No matter who else walks in, or creeps back into, my line of thoughts, I will be with him until the wick burns out.

No matter who else pulls punches to my gut, even if you pull the ol' one-two on me for the rest of my natural life, I will ride with him 'til the tank runs dry and the windows break and the engine overheats and we push the damn thing all the way to the junkyard.

He is, confirmed, the only one I want to share my adventures with. Oh sure, I've dreamt of you sitting beside me on the plane, but he's the only one who is ready, and the only one I trust to believe in my dreams every step of every trip. And I will do the same for him.

I could have loved you, I'm pretty sure of that–I might even admit that I have, or do, love(d) you. That may never go away.

But until he and I can no longer grow together and must grow apart, whether that be because of death or something else, I will stay. Not because of guilt, not because of a resignation to commit,

but because I love him, too. 

And in the beginning, I chose him, because you would not choose me.

If/until we get to a point where we can freely choose each other, who knows what will happen? If you even care. Sister thinks you do. 

But I choose him. I love him. 

And boy, he and I are gonna do great things.