Reality Between Dreams

He looked at the blue eyes, fair hair, and pale skin of the toddler he was raising, stark contrast to his own smoky eyes and dark complexion, and wondered if he had adopted a family in the same way he had been adopted.

Did that diminish the love and responsibility he felt for the child? Should it? Because it didn’t. Deeper than that, he feared that he would never know blood. That if he chose this path, there was no walking away from it, and he might be turning his back on the path that led to him smiling into the eyes of a child of his own, one day. His only chance at blood family.

Life had no guarantees, only potential generated by conviction of choice.

He knew that in those moments when he was not with her, he missed her, wondered how she was, smiled at the thought of her appreciating that morning coffee, imagined the sweaty, panting, blissful love they made, that he had yet to experience with any other. He doubted he would. They were not her.

Her silver eyes held softness to rival her hands, and reflected experience and wisdom altogether non-existent in women his own age and any other. He suspected. Strongly.

Throughout the time he had spent with her, he had begun to starkly recognise the privilege in his upbringing, in that the perspective of how life should look was conditioned into him, leaving little room outside his high standards for anything less than ideal... but he knew, at heart, he was more interested in real.

Forgiveness for the thought patterns he would construct, navigate, and get lost in, at the expense of simply being present with the woman he loved. At times, the idea of a different life with a different woman was as effortless as falling asleep. And yet even in his dreams, he thought of her, and would hesitate, and then recognise his choosing not to betray himself.

Or, to honour something even his dreams reminded him of.

And he is back in the present, wondering how far he should, could, father the child he had come to love, knowing the blue eyes he regarded reflected his father’s an hours drive and weekends away, reflected the man she had chosen to create life with.

He recognized that a thought rooted in lack did not necessarily reflect a future of lack, far from it. He exhaled, praying for appreciation of what he had, knowing that he had wished for it wholeheartedly and unwaveringly at one point, and told himself there was no sin in wishing for a child of his own, for a semblance of certainty reflecting a reality he, anyone, deserved.

Most importantly... she was worth it. It was her he had fallen in love with, and her he wanted to walk through life with. The details had filled themselves in, and it was from there that he, with her, could create the rest, together.

The silver ring embedded with a deep blue sapphire sat in its box in his backpack, unknown to her. When he was confident he could treat her and love her, always, the way he did when everything was still yet passionate between them, he would ask her to marry him. He could not account for her answer, but that was okay. He needed to know he was worthy of her, not the other way around.

She emerged from the bathroom, kissing him. Flashing that silver smile, she looked at her little boy playing with his spade in the garden, and then went to make them her hearty stir fry.

He had already chosen. Now he needed to honour his choice. The ring could remain in its box awhile.

Until then, Gavin was wetting his pants.