Dear subjective definitions of the word love,

Sometimes, I glance out my window into the darkness just to make sure he didn't come. It's usually right before I jump into bed, giving his headlights one last chance to shine across my driveway before I tuck my faith in and try to tell it goodnight.

And yet, somewhere deep inside of me, there is a voice telling me I'm wrong. It forces my heart to accept that maybe a man-like-jazz-standard-lyrics-have-made-me-believe-in doesn't actually exist. Maybe he won't be the throw-pebbles-at-my-window kinda guy. Maybe he won't be ideal in a tuck-my-hair-behind-my-ears-before-he-holds-my-face-in-a-long-romantic-kiss sort of way.  Maybe he won't be anyone like any-male-role-from-a-chick-flick has let me imagine. Maybe there won't be fireworks or butterflies or the romance of marrying the boy that's been in love with me the whole time and I was too blind to see he was everything I needed. Maybe it will just be some guy. Who I meet and have a pleasant conversation with. Who dates me for awhile and falls in love. And maybe that will be enough. Maybe I'll want to be with him so much that I will let go of all these stupid childhood expectations that have stuck to my mind ever since I watched my first Disney movie and created a concept of the way fairy tales are supposed to work.

But my heart can't make sense of it all. Is he out there or not? Is my idea of the person he will be only a combination of ideally timed moments and one-liners? Or do I really have a good idea of what I need? Of who he will be.

And yet I can't help but wish that magic exists. And that someday, not letting go of someone will actually be a concept I understand. 

So I let my heart turn into solid color so that my mind will turn quiet enough to sleep. But there is a part of my gut that never sleeps: the part that clings to the fact that someone out there belongs to me. And that maybe he's lying awake tonight too, wondering what's taking us so long to find each other. 

photos courtesy of the band Sway