"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.
