Thank God I didn't marry you.

You were too quirky, even though you were smart.  And funny.  And I was never bored.  Your leg wouldn't hold still.  You were a runner.  I can't do runners.  You overthought everything.  Our timing was off.  You were silly when I didn't want to be, and serious when I didn't want to be.  You weren't generous enough.  But you were a good time.   I'm sure your children are all brilliant, and funny, and the light of your life while you're off doing good around the world.  You gave them a much better mother.  Bravo.

Thank God I didn't marry you.

You had fabulous taste in 8-track tapes, really you did, and pitched in at times I really needed someone, but you were too much of a song-and-dance act.  Choreography wasn't my thing.  Discussions of asymmetrical anatomy weren't my thing.  You were after that cute girl in the next dorm--what was her name?  The one we got the haircut for that time, the redhead, and I hear you ended up having to get married, and then divorced, how many times?  I saw cute pics of your children.  I expect some of them can sing and dance.  You gave them a much better mother.  Bravo. 

Thank God I didn't marry you.

I wasn't destined for a life in  a small town.  Yes, you were gorgeous.  Yes, you were a good kisser.  Yes, you said all the right things.  Until I said the wrong thing.  And then it all went wrong.  You wouldn't even come by my locker anymore.  I learned a lesson then.  Your life has been a hard one, I hear, and I'm sorry for that, and sorry for your children.  You gave them a much better mother.  Bravo.

Thank God I didn't marry you.

You were a blaze of glory, flashing through, a fast motorcycle, a fast truck, a fast night.  Fast.  And then you were gone.  Too fast.

Thank God I didn't marry you.

You said to go for more stripe, and I did.  The world wasn't big enough for both of us.   You were witty, and charming, and engaging, and everything that seemed perfect.  There was just that one detail.  And it was a big one.  Your children already had a mother.  Bravo.

Thank God I didn't marry you.

I'd have been in the wrong town, wrong religion, wrong profession, wrong place, wrong time.  Wrong wrong.  It would have all gone wrong. 

I'd have never found the person in the right place at the right time with the right smile and the right right, the person who was smart and funny and liked Victorian poetry and old movies and seeing the world and crying when it was appropriate and knowing when to be serious and when to have fun.  All of you at once, and yet none of you, the one who made all of you make sense.

Thank God.