There's plenty of fish in the sea, but I don't want plenty — I want this one. Is that so much to ask? In an ocean of millions, we convince ourselves there's no other option, that the one right in front of us is the sole answer.

Even thinking there could be another option is blasphemy. Friends say, "Don't get caught up in one current that you miss the others. Don't drown in one person's eyes when there are plenty of other options out there." But that's because they have never dived this deep, never felt the calm in the middle of a storm in the way that you brought it. Because if they did, they would understand. They'd never pull me to the surface again.

All of a sudden, that blast from me becomes real, with those possibilities fading like ripples. There is no plenty in a world with you. And maybe it's naive to think that what I want makes a difference, foolish to pretend any of the other smiles, the other names, the other maybes could ever measure up.

But now all that's left are those other maybes — but it doesn't matter, because I have convinced myself that no matter how many fish are in the sea, there really is no one else for me.