Maybe in another life, where men don’t have to cry, he’d be bursting in on me every morning like he did the other day. I wouldn’t cover up, but rather open my arms, expecting the intrusion as part of our daily ritual. There wouldn’t be broken ribs and broken coffee tables, only ugly dogs named Larry, the sound of laughter, and mischievous green eyes that soothe my aching soul. Maybe in another life, there’s a gay Riley for a guy who’s gotten everything wrong in this one.
