A sunday evening

She called today. She'd hate to hear me say it, but it made my day. -SHE- made my day, like she does every day.

We talked about... nothing, really. How our weekends had been. Her yardwork. Shopping for bikinis. Skimpy bikinis. It's funny, I could hear in her voice how she enjoyed it. Something that will make her feel good because she'll look good. Skimpy. I'll never get to see them. But he will.

He will.

Regardless, the smile she brought to my face has been with me all night. I kinda feel a renewed resolve to get moving, get going, take the necessary steps to gain some kind of financial security.

But somethings' on my mind; been on my mind all day since she called but just in the last couple of hours coalesced into a coherent thought. I'm sure this train of thought will only hurt in the long run - there's really no other way for it to turn out.

I want to ask her to marry me. To be my wife.

Why do I do this to myself? She won't be my lover, she won't even meet me. She won't even tell me her name. Why would I ever think she'd be the least bit interested in being my wife? What the fuck is wrong with me?

But the thing is, it's right. I know it. It's the right thing for my life and honestly, I think for her too. I feel it.

Plans are what you make. Life is what you get.

I won't get to have her, to be part of her life, to share in her joys, to make a lifetime of memories with her. He does.

Geezus, I am some piece of work. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It sounds so stupid - the impossible fantasy of a middle aged man (fool) in love with a young, beautiful, sexy woman. But it's no "trophy wife" thing - i love her for who she is. She challenges me all the time - to be smarter, to be better.

I know she'll be my friend for a long time. I'll share as much of her life as she'll let me. I'll be happy for her when she marries, gets pregnant, has a baby, all the life events that make a life full. I will be happy for her and it'll be a sincere happiness. But i'll still carry a torch for her, always wish that it was me she could love instead of him.

So he may have her as a wife, and lover, and mother and companion... but there'll always be a piece of her that she gives only to me.

And that will be something i'll always treasure.