The Write One

I dreamt of him last night.

Apparently he still holds a fragment of my heart, even though I have long since decided he wasn’t the "right one" for me.

There were so many things about him that I found attractive, but he was never what I pictured as my ideal man. Pretty much, he was exactly the opposite. He was just barely my height (5’8") and thin, without much muscle tone. When all this started years ago, I may have outweighed him. I surely do now. He had the same passion for his career as I, and he was damn good at it, which was especially appealing. That in itself made us soul mates, I thought.

Funny. Oh, was he funny! The one person who could make me laugh until I cried. The "Comeback Kid" was always ready with the perfect one-liner. Such amazing wit and it was the hook that reeled me in. My youthful, and much too serious nature craved the laughter he provided. Everything was f-u-n-n-y in his world. But sometimes that was r-e-a-l-l-y annoying. Seriously. Good God, I thought, couldn’t we have a few conversations without them being peppered by humor or sarcasm?

But, the clincher? This was a man who could write. Poetic, almost. Tucked away in my old journals is a note from him that simply says….It’s inevitable.

Be still my heart!

What brought these long buried memories from my subconscious to last night’s dream? A man who can write. A beautiful dreamer, a man who creates perfect pictures with his words. A thinker. A poet. Storyteller. A man who’ll sit and watch a movie like The Notebook, and cry, with the understanding that we should all hope to have about such a deep love.

Call me a silly, incurable romantic…..but give me a man who can write and fully express himself and I will go to my grave a happy woman.

::Sigh::