“I want that ‘have you seen the way he looks at her’ kind of love.” ~ T. Collen
I’m holding out for my forever love.
This isn’t a true want ad or even a personal because I’m not looking for anyone to just apply; in fact, perhaps I’m looking to see if a man can answer this without even knowing what it is I need.
I’ve run the gamut of loneliness and tenderness soaked in the amber of honey. I’ve gathered the feathers from my broken wings and stitched them into my heart so that it may fly to meet the man who is my one.
See, what I’m being led to isn’t meaningless encounters with random fuck boys who are looking for ripe jewels that hide beneath pink satin and lace—I’m looking for the warrior who decides to pursue my love through the walls of thorns that are there to protect my most beautiful feature—my heart.
I don’t need a man’s smooth words or compliments about the softness of my hair or the rise of my breasts. What I desire is for him to run his finger along my dark edges, licking his fingers in order to separate my beautiful pages so that he may go even deeper in moments of sublime consciousness.
I’m holding out for my forever love.
The kind of lover who tends to the seedlings within his own soul, nourishing them until they have bloomed with the righteousness of glory and truth—a man whose heart is also his most beautiful feature. Someone who lives not through the riches held in his bank account, but whose soul is made of pure gold.
I’m not searching because I have learned that while I need to stay open and succulent in my luscious vulnerability, I also need to let things come and go with the waves of passion under a starry sky. I don’t think what I am looking for can be found around the corner of every smile, or within the darkness of twilight gleaming from a man’s eyes that are lit up with only desire.
So send me an applicant whose hands do the work of God.
A man who is so full, not of himself but of the universe, that he spills compassion wherever he goes, letting flowers of kindness bloom in his wake. A man who sits and listens to children in their sweet splendor that is untouched by the darkness of adulthood because it is there he learns the secrets the world has forgotten.
Send me a lover who sees that it’s the small things that will make my love for him grow.
The kind of man who cares not what my name means, but how it sounds as it escapes his beautiful mouth in a gasp of amazement. A man who can only see my true beauty with his eyes closed.
Perhaps my expectations are high, but that is only because my love is so great.
I don’t love in pieces or for convenience, for my love becomes the roots of the man I give my heart to. He knows that he may grow, branch off, perhaps even break at times, but that I will always be there growing stronger and deeper with each passing storm.
I’ve seen these careless fuck boys and the promises they utter as they lick their lips hoping to taste the aura of authenticity that I radiate. I’ve seen them glance over my shoulder at other women and down at my soft curves as if their true intentions won’t be seen under the guise of their shallow interest.
I’ve no need for someone for just one night.
I don’t need them to show me I’m beautiful, for the moon has already told me I am so. I can see the way the sea dances at the movement of my fingertips, and I know that through it I was born.
I don’t need a man who doesn’t see me for the woman I truly am.
There will never be a time when I decide to become simply what I appear to be. There won’t be a time I can settle for the touch of companionship when what I need is the rapture of a soul connection. At one point I thought that maybe I wasn’t meant for love, at least not the kind that my spirit craved, and so I entertained the thought of creating space for an almost-fit.
Yet, my heart rejected that, not through a conscious decision but through a violent illness that spread throughout my body, knowing that the love I needed was the stuff of poetry.
And so I packaged up my misconceptions about easy and timing and instead made the choice to conquer my own limited ideals about destiny and what it takes to be loved.
I made the choice to wait for a forever love.
I’m sorry if perhaps you believe that through these words, it sounds as if I think I am too good for you, but the reality is that I’m just a language that not everyone has the capacity to learn. I don’t do the superficial or the commonplace. I’m not a roadmap cleverly marked for your enjoyment, and though you may see a joyride when you look at me, my forever love is already following the stars to my heart.
I can feel him, and while he may be swinging from the constellations of his own journey, he has already begun to feel my heart as his north star, and so it’s only a matter of time until he finds himself here, in my arms and at a home he has never before known.
So, this time fuck boys need not apply—and neither should distractions, meaningless encounters, or those labeled as lessons.
I can see the white truth of souls and so I can feel your blithe expectations of normality, and while that may be a fine fit for you—I’m meant to be loved so much more deeply.
So this time, I’m holding out for my forever love because I know he’s holding out for me too.
“I want to be the one next to you at 4:36 a.m. when you wake up in my arms as I whisper, ‘Shh, go back to sleep.’ I would kiss your soft lips, hold you tighter, I would keep you safe and warm. And as you drift off to sleep, I would close my eyes and smile because you are all I could ever want or need.” ~ Unknown
Author: Kate Rose
Image: Stefan Schmitz/Flickr
Editor: Molly Murphy