...if somebody would have tried to tell me two years ago, if somebody had tried to tell me then what was about to happen to me, what had actually already started to happen to me - I'd never had believed that either.
If fact, some people did try to tell me, and I dismissed them as romantic-minded pansies. In fact, I tried to tell myself, and I dismissed myself as an aging fart rapidly approaching another midlife crisis.
All of the disbelief in the world didn't change a single fucking thing back then. I see no reason to expect it to be any different in the future. Disbelief of the obvious and denial of the truth may slow the inevitable, but they will never stop it.
That's why it's called inevitable. They made up a word just for situations like this.
I'll know when I meet her. I just will. It may take some time to admit it to myself, but eventually I will accept it because there will be no other alternative.
And then, then once I've finally fucking accepted and embraced the truth, that same old question will be there waiting.
Am I too late?