The life that almost never was

What if, for a second, I was the one to save her? What if, I became the father of the two unwanted children? What if I took her, loved her, kept her, started a family and lived the good life? What if we became strong?

What if I'm on crack for thinking this?

Dreamers dream. Is it our job to act? No. It's our prerogative, but not always our move. We are unpredictable in the chess match that is life, and that's why we'll never be defeated. But never being defeated doesn't always mean you come out victorious.

So I escape thinking about her, and thinking about what would become us. Coming home to her every night. Coming home to two children who love me, because their father didn't. Sleeping next to a woman who loves me. A woman who's one of the only people I ever trusted and listened to when it comes to my music. Waking up next to her. Waking up and being responsible for two children. Saving their lives. Giving them a rock, dependability. And having a woman who strangely understands me.

Stop.

Life sounds so much more glorious when it's summed up in a sweet paragraph. When we speak of heroes, in the essay we use to describe them, we fail to realize that these people live the one lifetime they have doing something that becomes filler in a book.

I dream just to see. What it would be like to have my own family. To have a baby girl. To have a wife. To have a son. To have my own life.

Encroaching 30 does this shit to you.