I lay in bed the other day, thinking about the distant future.
I started imagining the married life, and how I would cope.
You see, I'm afraid of marriage. Afraid of committing oneself to another for a lifetime.
What if something goes wrong? I guess I'm too self centered to understand right now.
What if I never find the right man? Obviously, I wont get married. But what if I get married to the wrong man? I lay awake thinking of all the things I yearn for in a future husband, and I couldn't find a definite answer.
I could imagine perfect scenarious, like me holding onto his flannel robe as we slow dance in the kitchen at 2AM, no music, just the sound of the stray cats tinkering on the streets.
I could see us see us sitting in a bare house, dusty floors and cardboard boxes all over the place, the only thing unwrapped: a wooden piano, which he plays perfectly for me.
I could imagine us jumping on beds, tickle fights on the carpeted floor, milk and cookies at midnight.
It took some strength and imagination, but after I stirred up the image of a child, it was hard to stop. Holding a baby with him holding me, braiding a little girls hair and watching a boy's football game, heart to heart talks with a teenager, worry, stress, and love. So much love. Enough that it bursts out from the seams and drowns us in care and fear. Enough to make our whole universes' dedicated to them. So much love. So much love that it hurts.
He must be out there somewhere, possibly dreaming of me as I dream of him. Knowing that one day, we will find each other.