I appreciate LyricalKris for putting up with the emo shit I write.
Seeing as how my name's not Stephenie [hell, the first name doesn't even have an 's' in it], I can say with conviction that I don't own these characters.
I think there are two kinds of relationships between lovers: there are the lovers who move you so much you can't think when it's over; you survive on nothing but coffee and cigarettes because you have to keep going - if only because you're still required to show up at work despite your obvious heartbreak - and there are those who you love, but if you lost them tomorrow, you'd go on.
I'm stuck in a hopeless rut of the latter. I gave up the love of my life for my husband.
We were toxic. We wanted different things in life. He never wanted to leave the house he grew up in, never wanted to take vacations to exotic locales. My dreams were so much bigger than his, so at the tender age of 22, I left him for my husband.
I'd give anything to go back in time and knock some sense into myself. Because I know now know what I know, I wish I could tell that 22 year old girl to stay with the love of her life as long as possible. Hold on to him with both hands, regardless of the differences in dreams.
I know I couldn't have changed him, and to be honest, I never wanted to. I just miss the way I felt when I was with him, how he changed his outgoing message on his voicemail while I was away at college to proclaim how in love with me he was; how ready to be married to me. I'm snorting as I write this, because obviously thatnever happened.
I miss the sex. The sex was . . . oh my god, blow your mind, multiple orgasms, let's stay in bed all day. I always felt so fucking beautiful with him, even though - during a brief period of separation - he told all of his friends I gave the worst head ever. The first time I blew him after we got back together, he asked me who I'd been practicing on - the fucking asshole. (There was a someone, a someone whose virginity I stole, but he never needed to know that.)
Everything about being with my husband is easy. He never fights me on anything, and I think that's one of the things I miss about the love of my life. We had knock down drag outs. More than once, friends dragged us out of bars because we were screaming about . . . something. I don't think either of us ever knew what we fought so hard about. The make up sex was always worth it, though.
Still, when the day came and I left him, I knew it was for the best. My husband and I had been spending time together and - let's just call him LOML for short, shall we? - just wasn't cutting it anymore. Hubby waxed poetic about all the places he wanted to go, things he wanted to see, foods he wanted to experience. At 22, that seemed amazing to me.
My name is Alice. This is the story of my miserable existence.
What I know right now: this will be short, I'll write when I can, and I'm not going to identify the husband or LOML. That's up to you to decide.