This is the post I never thought I’d write. But here I am, sitting in an empty apartment, typing this on what was supposed to be our wedding day. Let me backtrack. Mia and I dated for 11 years. Eleven. We met in college—she was the bold, artistic type who dragged me to poetry slams and midnight bike rides. I was the “practical” one, always talking about saving money, building careers, waiting for the “right time” to settle down. She wanted marriage, kids, a life that felt intentional. I wanted… stability. Or so I told myself. Every year, she’d gently ask: “Are we doing this or not?” And every year, I’d dodge. “Let’s pay off my student loans first.” “My promotion’s coming up.” “Next year, I promise.” I treated our future like a checkbox, not a priority. The truth? I was terrified. My parents’ marriage imploded when I was 10, and part of me believed love always ends in disaster. So I kept Mia at arm’s length—no joint bank accounts, no couples therapy when we fought, no ring. I convinced myself that as long as we were comfortable, we were fine. But last fall, she gave me an ultimatum: “Set a date by New Year’s, or I’m gone.” I panicked. Bought a ring the next week, planned a fancy proposal at our favorite park. She said yes, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. We set a date for June 15th. Then I did… nothing. No venue bookings, no guest list. I’d “forget” to call vendors, reschedule cake tastings, and bury myself in work. Mia planned everything alone, her excitement thinning with every unanswered text. Two months ago, she sat me down. “You’re not even trying,” she said quietly. “Why are you fighting a future you agreed to?” I snapped. “Maybe I don’t want a circus wedding! Maybe I’m fine with how things are!” The silence that followed was worse than shouting. She moved out the next day. Left her ring on the kitchen counter and a note: “I can’t marry someone who’s already married to his excuses.” The worst part? I didn’t chase her. I told myself she’d come back—she always did. But weeks passed. Then her sister texted me: “She’s in Portugal. Solo trip. Says she’s finally breathing again.” Last night, I found a box under our bed. Inside: every movie ticket stub from our first year, a dried corsage from her college graduation, and a list titled “Why I Stayed.” Item #7: “He used to look at me like I hung the moon.” I haven’t slept. I’m sharing this because so many of us think love is a given—that people will wait forever while we sort out our baggage. They won’t. Time isn’t a promise; it’s a gift. If you’re clinging to fear instead of fighting for your person, stop. Today, I was supposed to walk down the aisle. Instead, I’m begging the universe for a second chance I don’t deserve. TL;DR: Strung my girlfriend along for a decade, ghosted our wedding plans, and lost her. Don’t confuse comfort with love. — The guy who forgot that “later” isn’t guaranteed (Share this if you’ve ever prioritized fear over love. And if you’re stuck in a “someday” loop… wake up. Before it’s too late.)