I’ve been asked to marry a guy tons of times. No, literally. It’s been tons of times when guys have considered me marriage material, and all I managed to do was putting off the inevitable.

Guys asked me this on their death bed (sorryimnotsorry), in the park, on the internet, in Stockholm (my favorite city) and at home.

But mostly, they asked me because they didn’t felt that I was theirs, I suppose. I always kept a bit of myself to myself, so this archaic method should’ve ensure the everlasting happiness that they couldn’t provide for themselves.

But it’s the moment I was asked at home, in the sanctity of my soul, that this request felt more normal and more sincere than ever. It was the moment I truly felt the need to accept. And I did.