Sometimes I struggle to fall asleep at night. I feel the unbearable itch to grab my jacket, start the engine and go out for a drink. If I don’t, I might miss meeting the man of my dreams.
Then it strikes me that the man of my dreams isn’t in a bar at 2:46 on a Thursday morning. The man of my dreams is probably trying to fall asleep, lying in bed with his lame girlfriend. Or just some girl he’s called home to fill his lonely spot, that warm place in his bed meant for me. She’s a nice enough girl, but no passion, curiosity or adventure. It was probably sweet when she called him baby but now it just sounds detached and empty.
The man of my dreams just turned over in bed because I talked of him. He wishes he’d rather be talking to me all night and all day – right through his daily routine. The man of my dreams laughs easy and makes others feel comfortable in their own skin. The man of my dreams will engage in conversations that don’t necessarily cater to him. He’s genuine and nice and just wants to be given the chance to love, love, love. The man of my dreams has to be up at 7am. Maybe the man of my dreams is running around the park, not at the bar.
I should just shut up and go back to sleep.