Young, Restless, and Single

Every now and again a thought grapples its way from the very depths of my mind. It claws its way forward. Its advance, once noticed, will not be stopped. Every effort to slow its pace is only a catalyst. It pierces every fiber of my gut on its hunt to occupy my most conscious state. Once present, it dances like steam over a hot drink. Enticing, yet impalpable – never quite attainable. It is the moment, or rather, series moments that most will have the luxury of experiencing at one point or another. His touch, his warmth, his breath. His grip on my hand when the movie gets scary. His very company provides a sense of security. His kisses, although as charming the occasional sun-shower, rain down as reliably as the sun’s rays. His ability to make me happy knows no end. And yet, these are just thoughts. Vague ideas of what it must feel like to be loved and be in love. I am young, restless, and single.

Mr. Right, I’m waiting.