MY “HIM”

I was never very fussy about what my Him looked like. I didn't care if he was fat and balding or if he had a snorting laugh and was as thin as a rail. I had no physical requirements per se, after all, it was his mind that I was going to fall in love with – not what he looked like. But still. In my hearts of hearts, I wanted him to be tall. That's it. I wanted to feel dainty and feminine beside him. I wanted him to be able to pick me up and crry me up a sweeping staricase like Rhett Butler without breaking a sweat. Still. What I really wanted from my Him was his heart. I wanted him to love me above all others. I wanted him to treasure me.

Of course, reality, my ever present nemesis has managed to trample another one of my dreams. If I do ever end up with someone, I no longer believe it will be Him. It might be someone similar to Him, but I now firmly believe that my Him no longer exists.

 

The surprising thing about that is that as sad as I am about that, I'm okay with it too. I love my Him, and I don't want to meet a real guy who will ever expose his feet of clay. I want him to forever remain perfect in my heart. I will live with what ever reality life gives me, and if I'm not completely deliriously happy, I will settle to be content.