I recently uncovered a letter I wrote last October, to one of my friends back here at home; I wrote the letter, but never sent it.
Here's part of it:
I'm (finally) at the point where no relationship is better than a wrong relationship. I want a guy, yes (someone smart and gentle, with nice hair and eyes that make me melt, and strong arms to enfold me; someone who will go to church with me, someone who cuddles, someone who is comfortable to be around, day in and day out, someone whom I’ll still want to be with 50 years from now). I'd love to have wild and crazy sex every day (hell, YES). I want to have a child, a little boy with dark hair and eyes, who loves being outside, frogs, bugs, books, watching his daddy shave, and snuggling. My ovaries, they're SCREAMING. But I want this all with the right guy. I've realized this, finally – there was a point where I thought that any guy was better than not having any prospects. But…maybe it's because I’m getting closer to the age where I'll actually get married (yay!), but I'm realizing how important it is that this all be with the right guy, that I not settle for anything less than the guy who checks off in all the important categories.
Nine days after I typed that, John walked into my life.
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