Veronica just texted me a poem she wrote, which by all accounts, in my opinion, is pretty good. However, that is not the point right now. As I read it over and over, I feel the hurt in it and as the tears fall down my face, I wonder how many tears she still sheds over a love lost. Now, because it is not my own, I will not post it, but it has me in shambles right now, to say the least. There isn’t a day that has went by in the past year that I haven’t thought about where things took a turn for the worse, when she had given up and why I was the way I was. It hurts me to my core, down to barely audible breathing at times, to know that I have put the love of my life through this much turmoil; this much pain causing her to rethink who she really is, possibly second guessing any of the love and care she has provided me over the years. It is her who has helped me realize that I need therapy for issues way beyond and before her. And now, with my blackouts and other mental outbreaks, that I may need medicine as well. It is always her, where my mind, where my heart, go back to as if she is the beginning. Although, she really isn’t, she is the love that broke me down to ashes–just where I needed to be to see that the life I was living wasn’t the best and that I have demons in me running rapid. If she could only see and had something left in her to know that love I have for her is beyond real and I can be the man, the husband she desires and the father of our once-planned children, life would be better than it ever has been before. She is truly the option I would always choose, obviously, even now.