It's just before midnight, and I am just about to get to the best part of my day: The ten or so minutes between going to bed, and actually falling asleep.
It is within those precious moments that I am afforded the ability to think of everything, or nothing. I can create a scenario in my head in which I look fabulous and run into an ex. I can imagine that I am a real writer, supporting myself through words alone. I can recall a great part of my day...Or recall a horrible part, but tweak it to make it funny or think of things I could've done differently.
But mostly, I fantasize.
I fantasize about being in a good relationship. I fantasize about a man who makes me laugh, who is tall and smart and is crazy about me. I fantasize about having my hand held while walking into a restaurant. I fantasize about being happy.
Lately, though, the best part of my day has become bittersweet. I enjoy the taste I get, albeit a small one, of the future I want, but I'm becoming weary of how far away it feels. I'm tired of the man in my fantasies being anonymous, some faceless creature I've yet to meet. I'm sick of all the fiction; I want a little fact in my fantasy.
It was recently said that "[I] can't meet a guy in general [I'm] not going to criticize in some way, shape, or form." And, for a second, I agreed. But the person who said that has no idea who I am. I don't need an Adonis. I don't expect some picture-perfect man to breeze through my door with six-pack abs and a chiseled jaw. Nor am I looking for flaws, eager to tear apart every man I come across. I just want to meet a man who is smart and kind, who will make me laugh until my face hurts, who will wrap me in his arms and make me feel safe, who will be just as over-the-moon for me as I am for him.
I'm looking for the right person, and I know I haven't found him yet: The person I meet every night, just before I fall asleep.