Will you be a fellow classmate, concentrated on learning, career oriented, yet we make a connection that lasts beyond school?
Will we pass each other at an event, a play party? Maybe a happy hour or a munch? Will we get to talking, flirting, and then our lives grow from there?
Will it be random? A Metro ride? A work encounter? The grocery store?
As I drove back from Atlanta this past Sunday, I was sad. This happens at the end of all my adventures. Once it is all over, I have to actively pull myself away from a place of caring and acceptance of who I am.
But, during my car ride, I realized another truth. Part of the reason it hurt so bad to leave Atlanta was because I wasn’t going home to someone.
No one warms my bed at night. I don’t have a lap to curl into, a person who listens to me bitch about my day. I don’t have a cheerleader, a co-conspirator, a life partner.
As I drove, staying awake through six hundred miles of road, I screamed out my frustration.
I want to meet my husband. I want to have him in my life. I want the arms to fall into, the breath on my neck, the eyes I call home.
So when is it going to happen, life? Have I already met him? Maybe someone I haven’t noticed yet?
When will I meet my husband? When will we start our lives together? Because this waiting shit sucks.
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