The other night, I dreamt that I had driven the thirteen hours to LA to spend Ash's last day in California with him: snuggling in the backseat of a car; listening to music; the wind rushing through my hair as we swerved on the 405; watching the sunset over the ocean. It ended climatically with a very stereotypical romantic comedy-esque airport goodbye. A long, deep kiss followed by me watching him board the plane as if security wasn't a thing that existed.
About a year ago, I had a husband and a boyfriend. They both knew about one another and I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Except for when my husband went out on a date with another woman. That day I decided to see what the barrel of a 9mm handgun tasted like.