Before the breakup

Mindless, mind numbing, dumb. "I don't have to be doing this," I said to myself. I could be writing."

But did I want to write? Sometimes mind-numbing and dull are exactly what I want at the end of a long day. So scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. My eyes falling out of their sockets.

"Maybe I should just go to bed," I muttered out loud.

"Don't go to bed," Henry said. I started. I didn't realize he was close enough to hear me. He got up from his chair and came over and kissed my forehead. I didn't even want him to, but I didn't protest.

I ignored his plea that I not go to bed, slammed my laptop shut, and set it down on the table. He took that as an invitation. He plopped down on the couch and tried to snuggle up with me. As he took my hand and kissed my neck a thousand thoughts went through my head.

This is what I wanted. I wanted someone who would want to snuggle with me and hold me and not want to let go of me. I wanted an affectionate and sweet guy. Henry was all of these things. He always reached over and took my hand when we were watching movies. He went out of his way to get me things or do things for me, and he was always ready with a smile and a compliment. I believed that he loved me, but as I sat here, passively receiving his affection I didn't think that I loved him.

Yes, he was so perfect in so many ways. Affectionate and loving to the extreme. Always anxious to make sure that I felt loved and appreciated. But something was missing and I knew it. I didn't want just love. I had always longed for this. Someone who would stroke my hand and make me feel special.

The Beatles "All you need is love" played in my head. "No it's not!" I thought. "You need more than love, stupid Beatles!" I was clearly not in a good mood, and I was surprised that Henry was not picking up on this.

But love is not the answer. It's not even the question. It's only half of it. I liked Henry, a lot. I imagined our life together and could picture us getting married and growing old together. But when I threw kids into the picture things got messy. Not boogers and barf messy, but gritty parenting clashes messy.

Henry was lovely. He would be a loving and wonderful father. I could picture him now, bouncing our imaginary curly haired boy on his knee. But his discipline and upbringing would not be what I wanted for my son.

I couldn't have kids with Henry, because we would never be able to agree on what to teach our children about the way life works. And that mattered too much to me. Henry just wasn't on the same page as me. I wanted to create little people who would grow up to be the most amazing lads and lasses. Who would one day be angels in heaven, but in the meantime would make the world a better place. In short, I wanted a heavenly host. I wanted my little people to be strong and courageous and to wield swords of truth, and be unceasing when it came to standing up for the Truth.

But truth alone would not do. I didn't want my little ones to be monsters or to be cruel. They would have to learn to lean into the truth with strength and conviction, but to do so with love. To nurture and  bend, not brutally break. I believed in my future people, but Henry was not their father.

"Henry?" I said timidly. It had only been a matter of seconds since he had joined me on the couch.

"Mm?" he responded, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, but clearly not really in the mood for talking.

"I'm tired," I said. "You should go home."

He listened and stopped to look at me, disappointment in his eyes.

"Alright," he said getting up and pulling me up from the couch for a good night hug.

I let him. I even let him give me a long goodnight kiss when he leaned in for it.

"Good night," he said, holding on to my hand for a minute longer before he turned toward the door.

"Good night, Henry," I said closing the door behind him. And as I closed the door I started to cry.