For the Love of Layla

by Callie Moss

I just gawk at the monstrous projector screen in front of us, a table is sat up a little way in front of it with covered plates for what I assume is dinner. Fireflies dance around the tall grass as twilight sets in. It looks like a set from a movie, not something someone does in real life. Much less for someone you’ve been dating for less than a month, “Wait, you made this?” This is husband stuff. Let you put it in my butt level sweet.

To be honest, I’m one spilled glass of milk away from a fucking breakdown.

I’ll either go to an appointment or have another fucking breakdown and be treated to an involuntary grippy sock retreat.

If she did die, I’d be close behind her and I don’t particularly feel like committing suicide, not when we’re so close to our happily ever after.

When this is all said and done, please know it was done from love. Every moment has been because I cannot and will not live without you.