In the spring and early summer of 2008, the first woman and I had talked a lot of marriage.
I had some legitimate fears about things in her that I didn’t understand at the time, but I knew I loved her and wanted her.
I told her which choice made sense to me — based on what she was saying — but I told her whether she agreed or not, she had to make a choice. (I gave her my card and asked her to let me know what she did.) After she walked away, all I was left with was to ponder my own history — and my own devastating loss.
I watched the love I wanted and needed get washed away because of my indecision.
There was another woman who I’d had a very odd relationship with before I let myself meet and date the first woman.