There was no option between Braxton and me but to love. Always and forever. Even when he was starving and couldn’t eat a thing, there was always his wanting to “Lay Be Me” like his name was Ruben. I’m “trying” not to join him. “B’s An Option, Virgil”
Tuesday, November 25, 2025
Journey 147 ~B’s An Option, Virgil~
Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? More than my Braxton? What about my bed? Whether I have a billion or bucks.
I’ve made my decision. Today was a disaster. And dammit, I’m up. Not like that…
Honestly, I want to go back to sleep… Permanently with everything that has happened today.
Where do I even begin? How did I become HIS father? My firstborn son, Braxton Barks Bradford. How did I become your husband? And how about his and hers? Children?
Again, I return to where our marriage started to show “options.” Sunday, August 24, 2025. Hell, it was before that, Sunday, January 31, 2021. In August, we lost ourselves. In January, I lost HIM… Braxton.
Braxton, my firstborn, “My Sweet Lord,” and my everything until… You. And I made the same promise. Always and forever. Forever and Always. Then there are days like this. “Mama said there’ll be days like…”
“I fill my lungs with fear and I Exhale!”
It’s My Turn to Fly, The Urge ‧ 2000 (Titan A.E.)
This? My mama wasn’t like “The Man” from Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” “I’m Thinking of Ending Things” is a movie title and not an idea that drones on and on. Winston Smith, weighing his options and knowing the inevitable conclusion. Like him, all I have to do is “transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running inside his(my) head, literally for years.” That was never an option for me, either, my “Sweet Love.” Loving my boy, well, boys with Virgil. Our children. You. And since I first wrote my name, the written word. The only option for me has been loving myself.
Somehow, today I find myself hating myself even more than usual. Is that possible? Always.
Why is that, you ask?
Ask yourself why you are still “Dear Future Wife,” and here I am, forty-one, somehow. No, not somehow, the truth of the matter is your husband is C for Coward, D for Deviant, and F for Failure—a and B? Archie, Virgil’s “first” name. Braxton, my Ma named him, ha!
And what about E? Enough? That’s what I’m contemplating right this second because of “Tomorrow.” As Salif Keita sings, I don’t understand it, but it’s going to be sad, love. Braxton always knows about “The Bad Place.” Virgil cries for me. And tomorrow no one will “Stand By Me.” Not for The Long Walk I must endure. I’ll be “The Running Man” for sure. Panic Attacks aren’t optional, Depression, Anxiety, FEAR… B’s An Option, Virgil.
1759 Days Without B III, Day 1200 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

