Being nochalant has never gotten anyone very far

"You know, when we first started seeing each other I wasn't sure if I could deliver. He seemed to be into this up to his neck and I was just... I had no guarantees, no plan or even wish on how things should turn out. I felt I might be taking him for a rollercoaster ride of attraction and longing and deception. But he seemed so unfraid, so certain, so... I took the plunge. And I discovered that I could do this. I could take the plunge again and again everyday. I could dare to be commited, to be head over heels, to be hopelessly, madly in love with him. There was nothing deceiving about it. I was in for a lifelong romance made up of day-to-day "I do"s. Even when I was angry with him. Even when I hated him. I still made the decision to be his. I still was certain that he should be part of the mess I come home to.
Funnily though, the more certain I became about my own commitment, the more important was his. What if, one day, he questioned his decision to be with me? What if his life could function just as well without me in it? Where would that leave me? Would I be able to loosen this bond again? I went a little crazy there. And somewhere along those lines, I lost him. I suppose he is not coming back. Ever. Yet, my heart hasn't grown out of choosing him. Each morning, each day, every night. I deliver. I want him to know all the small things about me. Like, how the smell of strawberries makes me so happy, I eat them even though I don't really like the taste. Or that I block the shower with 7 different shower gels that I use according to my mood of the day. I wish he wanted to know that. Because I let him in. And now I cannot seem to get him out again."

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"When I married her, I opened my world to her. I made her a part of my life. And along with her came her family, her hometown, her jokes and childhood fairytales, her dreams and adventures, her ambitions and scars, her traditions, friends, her favourite colour on the walls of our living room and her most precious books on my nightstand so I could read her page by page. My favourite music didn't become hers. But she listened to it while doing the dishes and it made her smile because it was a part of me.
When you share a life it is impossible to count all the things that you share. And most of the time, it is only when you try to separate those lives again that you notice that you will get out half a life only, if you take away what you brought in.
Had you told me this morning that I would be without her tonight... I would've had trouble breathing from laughing so hard. Laughing at the absurdity of this incomprehensible half-life. It will be mostly pain for a while now - but after that? Does her hometown become a blank spot on the map? Do I leave behind her hilarious New Year's ritual? Shall I repaint our flat? Abandon it altogether? And if I don't - who would be willing to suffer through this life with me? "

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Life doesn't make sense. Either we make sense of it, or it is all just an arbitrary line of actions. I am drawing a black X on my chest. Just in case you needed help identifying the target.