I’m so full of these thoughts- dreams, dreamers and dreaming. But if someone asks me what I dream about, I can’t give a concrete answer. True I have lots of dreams, countless of them and all in varying exaggeration that I can’t begin to find which one I want the most. And when I really think about it, I realized none of them actually matters. They’re sort of foolish fantasies, wishful thinking and in some cases, pointless illusions I made up in order to escape reality.
Sometimes, I fantasize being a witch and that usually happens when I’m pissed off with someone. I could be a wicked witch stirring a potion in a big, brass cauldron, filling the humid air with mysterious scents and chanting relentlessly under my breath. I know, that sounds spooky and something akin to lunacy. But who cares? It’s better that than stoop down a notch and give in to initial impulse which is striking another human being physically. That, thankfully, is never in my book. Other times, I’m a multi-billionaire who can buy anything I want. I’ve built mansions and castles all over the world, and I have dozens of servants at my beck and call. Although that sounds really boring, it has kept me occupied for a good little while. I’ve been a starstruck fan who captivated Cristiano Ronaldo, became pals with Emma Watson, Rupert Grint and Daniel Radcliffe, and lived in Ireland after marrying Prince Harry. And at times, when I’m really bored, I would think of countless scenes that never had an ending. That fragment of thoughts became a skeleton of the stories I kept on writing during my spare time.
But when I really look deep inside myself, all I really want are the simple things. I could live in a little cottage alone, tending to my garden of roses and daisies and end my day watching the sunset. And I dream of finding that one particular man who can make my heart skip a beat, who can make me smile and make me laugh, who can make me cry and make me lose control, someone who really listens and makes me want and who makes me look deep within myself and accepts me for everything that I am. Someone who will be there for me and who will make me a part of his life. He need not be perfect. I don’t want my man to be a knight who’s all shiny and polished, who would come to the rescue, sword, armour and all, brush me aside like a true damsel in distress and fight on my behalf. My taste goes for someone with tarnish and flaws, someone who’ll fight my battles beside me and recognize my strength as a woman but not too much that he’d forget to treat me with a little tenderness and sweetness. I want someone who thinks with his head along with his heart. Most especially, I want someone whom I can go home to at the end of the day and who will welcome me with a smile. And when I feel so down, he need not ask if I had a bad hair day or if I’m okay, but he’ll simply gather me into his arms and hug my frustrations away.
Alright, I have to stop it right there. God knows I’m asking for too much. And I did say “simple things”, right?
Well, all those qualities are indeed simple, but finding someone who’s all of the above? I absolutely doubt it. Where in the world can I find him?
Or do I really have to find him?
He might just be around the corner, I might have passed him by down the street but I never noticed, or I might have met him eons ago but never knew he’s the one. Who knows, we might even had a moment or two. He could be just that guy I met again two summers ago who sang along with my favourite song and aimed a smile my way. A smile that made him stay in my mind every damn second of every day.
Ah, that’s just pathetic.
I’ll just go and talk to my imaginary friend who actually made more sense than I do. Sweet heaven, I need him to keep my shaky sanity intact. ‘Till then, fellas. J