I started to believe. He made me believe.
After 10 years of searching/hoping/praying/waiting/dating I finally met someone. The someone that even my dreams couldn't fully illustrate. The someone that treated me the way every man deserves to be treated. The someone that made me happier than I've ever been in my entire life. For the longest time I never thought it would happen. After so many failed relationships and false starts, after all the assholes and the ones that were just shy of being right, someone came along and literally took my breath away. It all happened so quickly, but it all felt so right. I thought this is the beginning of all those incredible love stories you hear. And we went on, happy, the two of us, giddy that we had found each other, blessing the broken road and spending countless nights together staring into each others eyes, smiling, having adventures - it was all so cliche in the best way possible. I remember asking him over and over if this was real, if he was real because in all honesty he seemed perfect for me. Not perfect, far from it, but perfect for me. For one of our first dates he brought me pickles and roses. If there's one thing I love it's romance. If there's two things I love it's romance and pickles. Weekends away with friends, holiday dinners with my family (a first for me), play dates with our dogs - it seemed like the start of something incredible. Something bigger than the both of us. And all those times he assured me it was real, he was real, I believed him. I thought this is what it feels like, this is what people...

























