They’d fight. He wouldn’t recall why even the very next moment. Yet, he would feel the hurt so much that he’d never want to see her face again. But then she would apologize and kiss his neck precisely where it would leave him helpless. She owned him. She knew all his idiosyncrasies. She liked him for, and not despite, them actually. That made him feel wanted. He still loved that girl; not necessarily the person she was, but what he thought she was. An ideal version of her that he expected.
The only thing worse than not loving her was trying to love someone else after having loved her and being loved by her. He could be, and will be, with someone else. But in his heart-of-hearts he knew that it would never be the same again with anyone. Ever. And it needn’t be. He had much love to give. He knew that. Yet…
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