I think I’m coming out of retirement. Why? Something big happened this weekend. I met Riddick way back in July 2015. Me and original dude (what was his tag, Him?) were falling apart and I was trying to move on. Then Riddick pops up completely unexpectedly. He was supposed to be fun; a fling.
Fast forward: we’re stupidly in love with each other. We find excuses to see each other as much as possible. We’ve intermingled friends and he’s met some of my family, and it is tearing me apart that he won’t leave his wife for me. I don’t care, though. I love him so damn much that I’m willing to make that sacrifice.
Then this weekend happened. Well, lots of things happened, but for me, this weekend was big. A chain of events led to him finally getting it through his thick skull that she is a horrible human being (she is), and she is using him for what he can provide and not because she wants to be with him. So, he’s filing for divorce. And we’re going to make it work. I’m meeting his parents and grandpa on Tuesday. Yeah, in like two days. I’m sort of freaking out!! In a good way, of course. We’ve talked about kids, and houses, and where to live, and how we’re handling the animals, and making lists of things we need and things we need to do, and we’re actually fucking doing this.
Three years, three months, and ten days. That boy is mine.
He already bought a ring. Which was funny, because I sent him a picture of one that I liked, and he sends a pic back of the same freaking style. He has me figured out pretty damn well.
It’s a success story. How many people have been able to say that? Not many. Not many at all. They never leave, everyone says. You’re just a distraction. You’re being used for sex.
To all of those people, fuck off. We’re in love, and he is mine.