Imagine this: you’re peaking. You’re in your youth. At the prime of your life. You’ve finally met someone of the opposite sex you can finally write with. That’s never happened in your life. The only other person you could ever write with wasn’t as good a writer as you, and this person’s a better writer than you. And you’re in love, you have a best friend, you have a soul-fucking-mate, and you can’t even believe it’s happening in your lifetime. And as a bonus he’s beautiful. And he’s the best fuck that ever walked. And he wants to have babies, and what you want is babies. You’ve wanted to have babies forever. And he understands everything you say. And he completes your sentences. And he’s lazy, but he is spiritual, and he’s not embarrassed about praying, and he’s not embarrassed about chanting, he’s not embarrassed about God, Jesus, none of it. He fucking thinks it’s really cool. He wants to fucking learn the path. He wants to be enlightened. Everything. And there’s even room for you to fix him, which you like, cause you’re a fixer. He’s perfect in almost every fucking way. The only fucking happiness I ever had. And then it all gets taken away.