___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I'm a fool.

I already know what you're saying. And, you're probably right in a sense, because only a foolish woman would stay. Only someone who wasn't in their right state of mind would still be with him, after everything that I've been through with that man. The pain, the hate, the frustration. The half hell that I've traveled to up-teen times with him.

But ... I love him.

Of course, that's what they all say. Even those who end up with broken bones and busted skin; at least I can say that he's never been bold enough to put his hands on me in a rough fashion. Maybe he knows that I'd be the one who'd get the last swing in; that I'd try my best to beat the hell out of him when given the chance.

I may be blind to all of his wrongs and problems in life. But, I refuse to be walked upon and thrown down in the ground as if I were just another player in his game.

When I say that I love him ... I mean that more than you'll ever be able to possibly comprehend. I adore him. I cherish him. I would crawl to the ends of the world just to grasp his hand.

No, I'm not obsessed. I'm not crazy.

You're probably wondering why I've hung around this long. Why I'm still here after all of the lies, the drinking, the drugs, the anti-depressants, the women ... and I honestly can't answer that.

Leaving's crossed my mind more times that I can count on my hands and feet. I've even had my bags packed and two steps away from exiting our bedroom and removing myself from what seemed like prison.

But, while I can walk away and leave physically, I can't mentally.

Everytime I try, visions replay in my mind. Almost as if time rewinds and I'm greeted with a mental video of a moment that stings in my memory.

I remember it as if it were yesterday.

It was mid-July, half past three in the morning and we were sealing off a massive argument that we'd just endured. I'd been the one to start the yelling, but I had reason, I'd discovered that his problem with substance abuse hadn't exactly ceased as I'd been assured. To even assume that it had in the first place was stupid, I realize that now, but at the time, that didn't matter.

From the second that he'd stepped through the front door of his house, I'd jumped on his case, and I'd been riding it for close to an hour. Bickering, bitching, yelling ... whatever you'd like to call it. He wasn't drunk - which was amazingly unsual after he'd been out with friends - so I'm assuming that part of my words actually stayed within him; that all of them didn't go through one ear and continue right out the other.

I know that I was harsh. That was my point.

By the end, my temper and my unwillingness to calm down had driven me to tears. And, watching him just stand there and stare at me as if he could've cared less only inflamed by anger and the salt substance that cursed my cheeks. I gave him another piece of my mind before declaring that he wouldn't have to worry about me anymore; that I was sick of trying to help straighten out his fucked up life, that I was tired of it all. That I was leaving.

And for once, I told him how I felt within the depths of my soul. I let loose the words that I never thought I'd hear myself say - "I've given up". On myself. On him. And most importantly, on us.

Maybe that's what struck a chord, I still don't know. Although he acted oblivious to the rest of the world half of the time, he knew the way that I was. He knew that I never gave up. And if I attempted to, it was when I'd tried every other possible option.

I remember screaming at him. Screaming so loud that it rang my own ears, that I shook for mere minutes. It felt as if the words were burning deep down and that if I didn't release them, they'd burn my insides to ashes. And I recall turning around as I began my familiar route up the stairs, prepared to spend the night alone in "our" room before departing at sunrise.

Then ... I heard him say my name. For a split second my world completely stopped spinning. My vision blurred. My knees seemed to tremble. He'd never spoken like that before. Not with that emotion, with that pleading, with that utter helplessness.

"Please, don't turn your back on me. I can't do this alone ... you're the only one ... who's ever really ... cared".

I turned to see him, standing at the bottom of the staircase; the moonlight reflecting through the open windows reflected on his glistening eyes.

I couldn't walk away, even though my mind screamed to, I couldn't. It wasn't possible.

And, out of all the memories that have passed through my mind throughout the years, I'll never forget the details of that night. Of how I stood at his side and caught him as he lost his balance, how we both sat in the middle of the floor until sunrise. I just let him rest there, rubbing his back as he'd trace circles on the nape of my neck.

That night he told me his dreams. He let me break into the person that I knew was beneath his skin. I could've written the book of his life, he told me everything - and I adored every second of it.

He had passion for life, for once.

Sounds melodramatic, I know. But he'll never know how those hours made me realize that I had a reason in life. A reason so pure, so amazing, so blissful. Listening to him speak reminded me that I wasn't just some small-town southern girl who'd gotten mixed up with what some labeled to be "the wrong type of person"; he clued me in to the fact that I'd fallen in love with a normal human-being who needed a woman more than anything, whether he was always open to that idea or not.

Yet who knows. Maybe my reason is to just run in circles and straighten out his life. Maybe it's just to put up with him on a daily basis. He couldn't make it alone, I'm aware of that.

And, maybe I am a fool for it all. But, my life has never been wasted, I refuse to think that.

Because even though I was on the verge of doing so, I never gave up. I never turned by back on the person that meant the world and beyond to me. The person that taught me all of the things that books forgot to teach me, without him even knowing what he was doing.

My best friend. My husband. And, overall, my fool.