I hope he laughs a lot.
I say this instead of ‘I hope he’s happy’ because happiness is so cliche. It’s eluded me for the majority of my life. Instead, I’ve been filled with a satiating contentedness. An appreciation and acceptance that this is life. What is will be and fighting it is tiring and mostly useless as an end result.
I say this to the future man I’ll love. Because no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince myself to give up, I can’t. I simply and wholeheartedly cannot. I am a human. Humans are social, they are not meant to be alone. Loneliness is the end. It’s the darkness that you look into but see no light. It’s the Friday nights home alone for the 3rd week in a row and all you crave is human interaction. And yet, loneliness can still present itself as an uninvited guest even when you’re not particularly alone. It’s the dark shadow that has a tendency to follow you, and it torments.
I hope he laughs a lot. I can almost hear it. Almost. His laugh. Hearty and contagious. And I hope one day it is I who musters this glorious sound from his chest to his vocal chords to my ears and then to my heart.
And I hope he’s my best friend. And I hope we can talk about anything, and not take things too seriously. I hope I look at him and see goodness. I hope I touch him and feel the kind of love that radiates from my fingertips all the way into my very bones.
I hope I wake up next to him and feel like there’s no where else I’d rather be in the world than beside him.
Yes, I decided I’m not giving up. I’m changing my recipe for loneliness.