I think this is like the fourth time I’ve gotten teary eyed at something this year. This girly crap has got to stop.

So. I slide over to the bed a while ago for a quick snog with sleepy-head over there, right?
And I notice he’s got gray in his scratchy little goatee.
I didn’t say anything, just kissed and cuddled and let him get back to sleep.

That’s just not fair, though.
He’s going to be forty next year. Forty.
40.

So going by the stats I’ve got about thirty years here.

Also according to the stats, I’ve got about another fifteen to twenty years or so after that left to go. Without him.
Even when you factor in all the particulars from self-abuse and health issues (math which I haven’t the heart to do more than estimate) I’m still looking at five or ten years alone once he’s gone. And most of those factors are things like suicide and drug abuse. Things which I have no intention of allowing to apply in my case anyway.
Factor in the heart disease that runs in his family on top of that and how many years does that knock off?

Not fair. Just not fair.

I’ve wasted too much of the time I had with him already.