I wish that I knew when you said “I love you…mean it” I knew it meant the same as when I say it. I love you with so much of myself that it hurts sometimes. I find myself wondering how the fuck I ended up in love with a man who is married with a family. I question if I am that fucked in the head. Before you I was perfectly complacent with my life solo, you showed me that I can in fact have a relationship where compromise, arguing, discussion of dreams life, divulging of secrets, and coming to for advice all took place in a healthful manner. I wish in could call you mine when I go to bed at night and wake up every morning knowing I have your heart. This year I have spent letting you invade my heart has been the realist, scariest, bravest, most selfish, and by far the most irrational thing I have ever done. I am certain that you feel even half of what I feel you know deep down that you and I could be truly happy together. I know I am speaking of complete fantasy however. I have always known that you will never leave the life you have to take a risk and throw everything you have worked so hard for. It’s one of the many things I love about you. I admire the father you are to your son. I envy the dedication you have to your family. And that’s when the sneaking suspicion that this is all some twisted situation my paternal issues have gotten me into, regardless it doesn’t make any of what I know and feel less real.