I can see it. I can see it all in that moment. A future. June as my wife, baking brownies when I return home from a long day of work. The kitchen alight with sweet smells, the house a mess of toys and living, maybe a happy-go-lucky dog circling my ankles, and the chatter of our children, the ideal soundtrack to our life of bliss. I can see it so fucking clearly. And it hurts my heart that the things I see, the things I crave with everything I am, aren’t necessarily the things that are right.
