Happily Ever Afters

by Elise Bryant

Why do his words get to come out all flawlessly Times New Roman, and mine are, like, Wingdings?

The feeling of not being in control sounds awful, because I love being in control. I wish I could be even more in control than I am normally—why isn’t there a drink for that?

I feel like my shoulders fall down a little lower, like I’ve been unknowingly hunching them, tense, all this time. And now that we’re together I can finally relax.

She knows me, and she loves me anyway. Or she loves me because she knows me. What would happen if I saw myself the way she sees me?

The anxiety comes in waves, and I don’t ignore it. I acknowledge it, examine it, and then let it go. I don’t let it stop me.