Day 241

It was just starting to rain when he said it. A slow, quiet patter on the windows and the soft murmur of thunder worked in tandem to gently cushion the words that my heart had tacitly acknowledged for years, but that still seemed stark and  foreign when spoken aloud.

"Sarah, you want to fall in love so bad."

And because this accusation came from an old friend who I treasure, in part, for his propensity towards blunt observations, I was able to reply just as honestly,

"I know."

And I do. 

I hope this doesn't come as too startling of an admission. That it won't scare anyone one away from me in blog life or me in real life. (You know who you are.)

It shouldn't.

At least I don't think so.

Because if we were to have an impromptu exchange of vulnerable, unfeigned declarations - you and me, right now - chances are you would look me in the eye with a kind of quiet daring that accompanies these types of conversations and tell me that to be in love is all you really want too.

And then if I know you at all, which I like to think I do, you'll laugh softly and look away and start to list off at random what you think that means. That love you want. The shape of the heart you hope will match with yours.

Before long you're voice will fade as you reach the end of what your willing to throw out in the universe, maybe for fear of jinxing it, maybe because there are just some things best left unsaid, maybe because the person that seems so tangible in your mind will turn into some frivolous figment if you keep going. It doesn't matter. Either way I'll understand. And we will sit in amicable silence for a moment lost in thought until eventually I'll paint a you picture of my own.

I'll tell you that I want someone who will be monogamous and nice to his mother. I want someone who likes musicals but knows to shut his mouth when I'm watching Lost. I want someone who actually empties the dishwasher instead of just taking out forks as needed, like I do. 

I want someone to sing to me in a low, broken sort of way when I'm sleepy and who will play with my hair while he does. I want someone who loves John Steinbeck and Bill Waterson with equal amounts of enthusiasm. I want someone who doesn't think scruff and v-necks are only for hipsters, but who will still shave for Sunday and who knows suits make me swoon. 

I want someone who will hold my hand in front of his friends and who secretly wonders how to steal all the art when he goes to museums. I want someone who appreciates the word melancholy and realizes that, for me at least, it is the only word for the days when summer fades to fall.

I want someone who will always remember who he is and act accordingly. 

But most of all, I want him to love me desperately. Even when I'm old.

And that's what I want.