There are 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 only answer. Even thinking there could be another option feels like blasphemy. Friends say, “Don’t get caught up in one current and 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’ve never dived this deep. They’ve never felt the calm in the middle of a storm the way you brought it. Because if they did, they would understand. They’d never try to pull me back to the surface again. All of a sudden, that “blasphemy” 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 — and it doesn’t matter. Because I’ve convinced myself that no matter how many fish there are in the sea, there really is no one else for me.

That fish was never mine anyways.