"lets be realistic," he said with a scoff.I was being realistic. Yes, my reality was to spend the rest of my life with you.Yes, my reality was to grasp your face and connect our lips in a white dress.Yes, my reality was to hold your hand as my fingers dug within your flesh as the doctors yelled for me to push.Yes, my reality was to help you wash your gray short hair and tease each other about our wrinkles.Yes, my reality was to stare at grandchildren as we reminisced about our lives.You were my reality, and I was being realistic."you're right," I mumbled in agreement, "i need to be realistic."I was being realistic.