You meet a man. You haven’t met a man in a while. He has a child. And that child has a mother. The man lives with his child’s mother. But you see him and he sees you. They’re not together. They just have a child to raise. You’re attracted to him. And when you see him again, you’re attracted to him more; he might be the one.
When you start to like him, you start to look her up. She’s easy to find. There are photos of her in his photos on Facebook. How could there not be. They’re raising a child together. But they’re not together. She’s not as pretty as you. She’s not as driven. You can help him grow. You want more of his time, but he can’t give it to you. He has responsibilities. And so you talk about her with your friends. Long conversations. Conversations that feel productive and intellectual, that feel like they’re fixing the world. You’re right. She’s wrong. Why has she accepted a man that isn’t fully committed to her.
But she’s raising a child. And she was one of the lucky ones. He stuck around. He didn’t run away. So she has to hold on. She shouldn’t be in this alone. She knows their relationship lacks vigor and is too filled with familiarity. She knows a flame went out in him. And there’s no movement on the road that he once was on. But he’s a good father. And we all have to make sacrifices. I’m working full time and raising a child. Who has time to look for love. And who said this wasn’t love. Love isn’t always so pretty. It’s not always clean cut and straight forward. It’s actually ugly and imperfect. But it’s existence in that imperfection is what makes it so coveted. But this isn’t even imperfect love. This is fatigue of the pursuit. This is something that came close to love… for one moment… and I took it. It was good enough.
I could be like my counterpart, the super single mother. The woman who rose to the occasion. Her child’s father didn’t stick around. And although things were harder without him, she learned to survive and then flourish. She’s still pursuing love. And some times, long times, she’s lonely. But because she doesn’t settle into her fatigue and her loneliness, she still has the chance of finding a love that’s more than just good enough. A love that’s everything she wants and needs it to be. But convenience came to me resembling love. And now I’m unable to let go. I can’t gamble something certain for what could be. Can he?
So now there are three of us, not moving, not growing. All in a love that’s good enough.