It's a sad thing when you come to realize that you're just to going to have what you always hoped you would; what you always felt you deserved, like everyone else.
For a long time I have been looking for my person. I am going to turn 38 soon and I am no closer to finding him than I was a decade ago. Or two decades for that matter.
I have no idea what I am doing wrong.
A lot of people say that their dog is like their child. I get it. To each his own. When I held Oliver as he was dying though, I wasn't holding my child. I was holding my friend. I was holding my puppy companion. I love Harlow, but she is not a human child. She's my puppy. And I love her. When I refer to her as "my kid" it's not in replacement of a human. When I say she's "like having a toddler", I mean that in the sense that she is a total handful, seconds away from drinking Drano if I don't watch her carefully. It's not because I think she actually is my toddler.
It is one thing to consider the possibility that you may never find what you were hoping for (a husband and a family of my own), it's another thing to actually come to the realization that maybe it's time to stop trying because, really, it's actually not going to happen.
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