I keep hoping.

If we were married we’d try to work things out. We wouldn’t just throw in the towel. So maybe I should keep trying. Because a year and a half is a long time and things were good. And then they weren’t. But we always made up. And he got so much better at helping out and I got happier and we could be that couple from that summer! We could.

But if I were 17 I would say “it’s over. Stop trying. Almost all the good got used up and if you keep pumping you’ll only have bitter memories left.”

But I’m 22. And half my classmates have already started a family. And he said he’d be mine and I said I’d keep him forever.

But, once again, I am reminded that love is not enough.

I don’t know what is.

But love surely is not.


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