dreAms are my rEaLity

I’ve got my head in the clouds and my feet planted firmly-- well, in the same place. I'm a dreamer and an optimist. I dream, and I believe my dreams will come true. Does that make me crazy, immature, hard to manage? Yes, probably. Explains a lot of alone time, doesn’t it?

I “DREAM” of finding that guy. I “BELIEVE” I will. I almost sometimes, hope that maybe I already have. It would save me a lot of time and trouble. Most days I look into the pot of potentials on my dating site and “dream” of a bigger pot with more choices, or just the choices I want.

My maven is out there. I can feel him getting closer. My path has taken some interesting twists and turns, so it would have been difficult finding me up until now. I didn’t want to be found; I hid, tucked safely way behind big cities, busy jobs, and excuses. I was driving at warp speed and when I finally put on the brakes, discovered that life, love, all of it had passed me by. I was alive, for I was breathing in and out. But when did I exhale? All the driving, hurrying, running, hiding, working my fingers to the bone, pretending it was life. What was I doing, actually? I’ve had to look those questions in the eye and answer them today, and now have the audacity to wonder – Where is he?

Maybe I’ve already met him. Was it Buboy who sat next to me in grade five and stared at me with teary eyes when I was scolded our teacher? Was it that cute boy who was the last on the bus route in third year high? Is it that cute guy in line at the bank who instead of making eye contact with, I chose to stare at my shoes? Or was it that shy guy at the office that someone later told me was the one putting cup cakes near my computer? Did I dismiss him like a child from the room? Was I kind? Was I cruel? Was I rude? Maybe God punished me for not being pure of heart when he brought him to me, and now my hell on earth is to live my days looking for him.

I have met men who make my blood boil, made every inch of my body burn with desire and some who have made my heart beat so fast I feared it would beat right out of my chest. But if what I really needed was someone who made my heart beat slower? Not so slow that it would be in danger of stopping altogether, just beat at a pace that I can hear for a change. A pace I can understand. It would feel like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders; it wouldn’t need to cover me completely to be exactly what I needed to feel safe and warm.

He is etched in my brain. His face is soft and complicated at the same time. Eyes somewhere between dark brown to light brown and their gaze feels like a spring day-- warm, inviting, and full of light. Full crimson lips that beckon me to kiss them. Hands that tell of young days of hard work, firm and thickened-- and I crave them in mine. He wears no cologne, but when he does it's intoxicating to the senses. He carries himself well but inside desires to be taller, dark, all the things he thinks women want. He is exactly what I want. Confident and insecure, searching for himself in all he does. He too is searching for that kindred soul-– the one who will love him enough to let him off the hook--for he’s weary and needs a rest from life-– and from himself.

Like me, he needs to exhale-- URGENTLY. But exhaling means letting go, it means facing his own mortality, vulnerability, and fate. It means facing his past and his future squarely in the face with the same eyes. He will fight it, and he will lose. He doesn’t like losing; being in control defines him and he despises variables, especially the ones he can’t see, feel, or even touch. But he does feel them, he feels them deeply and to his core.

He runs away, never towards. He plays by his own rules but he hasn’t met me yet, and when he does, all those rules will go out the window. He will be powerless and terrified. I will smile and move towards him. My steady gaze will tell him everything he needs to know. The world will be silent, the sound of our breath and our hearts will be the only thing we hear, the only thing that matters. And when finally, his will to resist all but disappears, I will take his trembling, calloused hand in mine and he will be loved.

My maven, the one I choose to shine with outside of my body, outside of my soul-- is still out there. If I see him, I will know now. Like the simple soul of a child, the purest hearts to ever grace this earth-- my heart will remain pure, open and I will brazenly ask God to bring him back my way. I will not waste this chance, for it may be my last . . .

Yes, I’m a “dreamer”. And I powerfully BELIEVE that DREAMS can come true.