text: She was beautiful. Not because of how she looked, but because of who she was. I walked beside her, watching as her face lit up in awe. That scene was far better than the Christmas lights we had come to see. I wanted so much to reach out and take her hand in my own, to tell her that I loved her and that I never wanted to leave her side, but I couldn’t. Real life was never as simple as the stories in the books that I had eagerly consumed since I was a child. I still knew too little. In a book, an author who knows the beginning from the end guides their characters through a number of challenges to an ending that will ultimately be satisfying to the reader. This generally means a happy ending; that no matter how dark the story gets, there is promise of resolution and happiness on the horizon. I, in my life, have no such guarantee of a satisfying ending. It's like the world was trying to set me up for heartbreak. That’s not to say that I was excessively worried for my future. The thought of ending up eternally alone and lonely occasionally kept me awake at night, but I never truly believed that it would happen. I knew myself, and I knew that that very fear that kept me awake would act as a driving force, causing me to make sure that my fears never become a reality. I knew that I would someday find someone who I wanted to be with and who would want to be with me. I knew that I wouldn’t stop trying until I succeeded and, in this world where quantity always seems to be chosen over quality, that was the best way to guarantee success. Not giving up. I also knew, however, that the odds that I would end up with this girl, this amazing, beautiful girl who now stood beside me, were very low. And somehow, the idea of ending up with someone else had begun to scare me more than the idea of dying alone. I imagined a house, a big house in the suburbs. It’s my house. I live there with my wife. I love her. She loves me. Everyday, I get home from my office job in city. My two beautiful children run out to hug me and eagerly share whatever antics happened at school that day. We all sit down for a delicious home cooked meal and my wife lets me know what the youngest -he had just learned to crawl -had been up to. I tell her about the most recent bit of office drama. The two older kids keep throwing in stories of new things they’ve learned, friends from school, and what they did when they got home. We finish dinner. The children help as I clear the table and wash the dishes while my wife puts the youngest to sleep. I go back to the table and start helping my son with his math homework. My daughter lays on the floor and begins to color. I absentmindedly brush my fingers through her hair as I point out where my son made his mistakes. He’s a smart kid, a fast learner, and soon he is done with all of his homework. There’s still time left before the children’s bedtime, so we all gather around the table and play a board game for thirty minutes before sending them to bed. I kiss them both goodnight and turn the lights off. My wife and I go back downstairs. We put away the board game and begin chatting. Neither of us has anything important to say, but we both love the feeling of talking to someone who understands you so fully and loves you so completely that we find things to talk about, even if we know that it doesn’t matter. We sit down on the couch and resume the television drama that we’ve been watching every night. I love the feeling of her warmth pressed up against my own, my arm around her shoulder. After two episodes we retire to bed, eager to wake up the next day to continue the long string of perfect days that had become our lives. That wasn’t the life for me, and I knew it. I returned to the present, to the beautiful girl who was now trying to figure out how best to frame the lights on the tree in front of us through her phone’s blurry camera lens. Seeing her, I imagined a completely different scene. A tiny apartment in the city. It was clean, it had to be considering how few possessions were owned by its two occupants. A small table, two chairs, a few cups and plates, some silverware in the dining room. A bed, a small dresser, and a single bedside table in the bedroom. Shoes were kept by the door. They were all well maintained, but old, beginning to fall apart at the seams. Judging by the size and age of the apartment, their owners couldn't afford to replace them. I was employed at a job I hated, making half as much and having to work twice as hard as I should have had to. The dinner table was strewn with papers from work that I had had to bring home to finish. She hated when I brought work home, but usually she said nothing about it. She knew that I hated it too. She was still at the library, she always had to work late this time of year, and graduate school was hard work. I glanced at the clock, it wouldn't be too long now until she got home. I walked over to the fridge and scanned the paper stuck to it for today's date. I needed to see what rice or bean based meal I have to make tonight. I start cooking. Soon she gets home. We each talk about our day in short, clipped sentences. We are both too tired to hold a full conversation. We finish eating. She prepares for bed as I was the dishes and start going through what work I have left to finish. She goes to sleep, her day starts much earlier than mine and she needs as much rest as she can get. She has tests coming up. I stay up, working, until I can no longer keep my heavy lids open. I, determined not to fall asleep at the table again, quickly prepare for bed and then stumble, as quietly as I can, into the dark bedroom, doing my best not to wake her. All my efforts are for naught however, as I stub my toe against the bed frame and let out a muttered curse. She lets out a little laugh, apparently having been awake since I had entered the room. I whispered an apology as I climbed into bed. In the dark room I could just barely make out a smile on her face before she rolled over and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes as well, ready to fall asleep and begin another difficult, painful day on the morrow. I loved every minute of it. Though I had imagined it, just as I had imagined the house in the suburbs, it felt real. I could feel every bite of poor-man's food as I shoved it down my throat, concerned far more with survival than taste. I could feel every tired keystroke as I worked late into the night. I could feel every hour of lost sleep and every tired muttering as I struggled to say something intelligible. And, for just a moment before I snapped back to reality, I could feel the warmth of her sleeping body pressed up against my own. Every pain, every difficulty, every inconvenience, I felt them all, and they all felt like steps on a path to greater things. Our dreams would one day be reached, and then every effort we had made along the way would be completely worth it. And, if not, if the worst happened and our dreams were never achieved, if we were never able to move out of that cramped apartment, if I was never able to get a better job and she was never able to finish school, if that all happened, then I would have to consider myself blessed to have traveled the painful path to nowhere with her by my side. The big house in the suburbs seemed like the worst punishment Hell could offer in comparison. I returned to reality and glanced at the beautiful girl walking just a half-step ahead of me. I longed to take her hand in mine, to tell her of the beautiful visions I had seen, and to ask her to help me make them a reality. But I couldn’t. She didn’t see the world the way I did. She didn’t see me the way I saw her. That fact was so clear that even I, a generally oblivious person blinded by love, could tell. The fact that we were together this night, just the two of us, was enough of a miracle that I worried even the slightest of moves to try to make it anything more would shatter the fragile bubble of wonder that surrounded this night. She turned towards me--God, her smile was beautiful--and spoke. “Well, I think it’s about time I head back, see you later!” I smiled and, waving, said my goodbyes. Inside I was dying. I watched as heaven slowly disappeared from my view. Once I could no longer see her, I turned walked back into my unescapable daily hell.