He said, “Meeting her changed my life. Made me a better person. A good person.”
“You weren’t a good person before?” Someone asked.
“No… It’s just that… Nothing was right before. Nothing fit. I thought I was happy but I wasn’t. She changed everything for me. She’s my everything. She quite possibly saved my life.”
The above conversation went on in that manner for several minutes. I wasn’t directly involved in it, instead I was chatting about college with TheBoy’s niece, but we both stopped to listen. By the time he finished, with a kiss to his wife, there wasn’t a dry female eye on the boat. As he was speaking I had to will myself not to look at TheBoy, certain I wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay, hating myself for the ache of longing that was spreading through my stomach.
I think all women want THAT kind of love. To think that they’ve made a significant impact on the lives of their man. To feel desired, wanted, needed. Important somehow. Like, if we were gone we’d be missed. It’s why we crave compliments. Why we’re constantly dissecting their actions for hidden meanings… We want to be someone's everything.
I’m of the school of thought that men are MUCH simpler than that. There are no hidden meanings behind their actions. They either do something or they don’t. Because they want to or they don’t. And lately? That thinking is making me sad.