#memoirsofanidealisticsingle

I want the man whose eyes darken with desire he sees me. The man who gravitates towards me like a drug. I want the embrace of my home in a person, the one person in the world who’s truly on my team. 

I want the unwavering faith in me that doesn’t see my track record but instead my potential, and doesn’t try to form my path but cheers me on and holds me when I’m barely holding on. I want to see how my touch affects him and entices the inner siren. 

I want to look into his face and feel the flutter that his smile causes and a zing of joy in response to his laugh. To feel him in a room before I see him because my temperature has risen a degree. 

I want to blush because of how he affects me, be giddy at the ping of his communication. To receive the inside jokes so lame that they take on a new level of hilarity. 

I want the comfortable silences, the amusement at faults, rather than scorn, the trust so complete it’s unworldly and an uncommon understanding of the man I’d call mine.

I want the dream. I don’t want less. I want the other piece of my puzzle, but I can be complete on my own. 

I just don’t want to find a piece I think is my own and realise that only I saw him that way.