If I were honest with myself, I mean really truly deep down in my heart of hearts honest with myself … maybe I would admit that somewhere underneath it all, I want the story of happily ever after. Maybe.
But I’m never completely, without a doubt, 100% honest with myself. So I don’t need a handsome prince to rescue me. I’m not dreaming of a fairytale, because fairytales don’t exist. There isn’t anyone to sweep me off my feet. And I don’t want that anyway.
I don’t want the romantic proposal.
I don’t want the diamond ring.
I don’t want the beautiful bridal gown.
I don’t want the honey moon in Hawaii, or Paris, or where ever.
I don’t want someone who’ll write me songs, and sing to me and take my breath away. I don’t want to belong to them and they belong to me. I don’t want to hear the soft sweet sighs meant only for my ear. I don’t want someone to take me by surprise every time they tell me they love me. I don’t want anyone to look so deeply in my eyes that I can see my name etched onto their soul. I don’t want fall asleep listening to the even breaths and the heartbeat of the one beside me. I don’t want any of it.
Except I ever so badly do.