There was a period of time where at the slightest nuance of a romantic gesture, I thought I was being proposed to. Oh man, I wanted it bad. I had seen all of my in-laws on his side of the family, plus some extended family and a few friends get engaged, and I had the fever.
We talked about it. I dreamed about it. I wanted a ring.
But then, after many “Is this it?!” moments, followed by many “Nope” moments, I just stopped expecting it. I knew we were going to get married eventually, and an ultimatum was never an option. (He’s my dude, regardless of whether we are husband and wife.) We still talked about it. I still dreamt about it. But it didn’t feel healthy to be getting my hopes up only to be let down so often.