All my life I’ve been looking for my “real” husband. I guess I still am.
I thought I had found him, but it turned out he had no room for me in his life, after all. Funny, though, there’s plenty of room now for someone else. And I still have this hole in my heart.
My “real” husband will be glad to see me when I show up, and I can see it in his face. He will make me feel adored, even though I don’t deserve to be. He will make me feel that I belong to him and that he wishes to keep me forever, but not as a possession or a prize. He will be the first to treat me like I am loved and cherished.
He won’t be the only one ever to tell me that he wants me with him for every part of his life, but he will be the first to really make me feel like he means it. He will willingly share every part of my life. He will want me to be a part of his everyday, normal life, as well as the special moments. He will always assure me that I have a home in the comfort and strength of his arms, anytime I need or want it.
He will be someone I can enjoy being out in public with, and yet barely wait to be alone with, even after years together. I want passion and tenderness every day. I don’t just mean sex; but also gentle, passionate kisses, full of love and promise. I want every kiss, every touch to stir my soul as much as making love—long before we are naked. It’s not about sex; it’s about love.
I will kiss him anytime, anywhere. And every time I kiss him, I am promising that the next kiss is his as well. I want to spend the rest of my life making up the time we have missed.
This may all sound impossible, but I’ve had glimpses of such a life; I’ve come so close it burned. Perhaps if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t want it so much now.