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To the Girl of my Dreams (Whom I'll Never Meet):

Allow me to introduce myself. I am the one who has wished for you for as long as I've been conscious of my existence as an individual being - with male genitalia. I am also the one you'll never meet. It simply has to be this way. Nearly four decades of searching has convinced me of the fact that you are unattainable, and - alas! - you may not even exist. At least not here on earth.

You are lovely, playful, kind and gentle, quiet and serious in your attention to detail, and you always try your best. Your word is your bond and when you pledge yourself to me you speak of forever. Your hips are wide enough to accommodate a child should we choose to conceive, and yet your legs are long and lean to match me stride for stride if I should chase you. Your handful upstairs is quite all right for a guy like I, lest those celestial mounds strain your spine and cause your shoulders to sag. Besides I'm more of a devotee of the derriere. And your posterior is as perfect as your thoroughbred's haunches. So let the race begin. I'll pursue you to the ends of the earth, although we both know I prefer to be chased. And you don't mind. You are so feminine, but are not above being the aggressor and initiating things. Which makes me appreciate you all the more. It takes a lot of confidence to be the initiator. A girl like you knows exactly what she wants. 

Now I'm pretty confident, but I have been known to waver in my resolve, to incessantly weigh the pros and cons and to vacillate between options, as between two young lovelies. This is a very Librarian trait, I should point out. I should also point out that I am not a Libra, and that you probably aren't either. If I had to guess your zodiac sign, I'd say you are a Leo. I'm almost sure of it. Leo is the opposite of Aquarius, and therefore the perfect complement to me. To complement is to complete. This is the highest compliment I can give you. Because aren't we all just searching for our other half. Isn't there truth to the belief in twin spirits and soul mates? And yes, like the Leo you are regal even at your most down to earth. You are generous and self-possessed. And you'd make a great mother. I know, I already said that. But as they say physical love is nature's way of assuring the propagation of the species, and having assumed human form I must keep in mind my debt to posterity. We could talk about our purpose on earth all night, perhaps in the moonlight, and over wine, because I'm certain that you have your take on the theory, and that your insight is keen and unique. You are okay just drinking water too. Speaking of water, as a compassionate Cancer (water sign) you would conjunct my moon.

Not to objectify you, but you are after all the object of my desire and you ignite my fire. (Do you love that song as much as I used to?) Which reminds me. You have sunlight in your hair and the brightest stars for eyes, with all the charms of the goddess of love herself, just like the song to Venus says, the one I used to sing to my reflection in the bathroom mirror when I was in the third grade. Did you hear my plea, even though it was a little off key? Your lips are full and your teeth are white and straight, though you've never worn braces. You're a natural beauty. Your vision is perfect, the better to see me admire you. You don't move, you glide. Your words are a melody, and your every gesture a dance. When you smile the room ignites in a borrowed radiance, and even when your face is straight your pupils quiver in their orbs, because you are always merry. Though you are fully capable of feigning seriousness when the situation calls for it, although this is very rare, because life is a cosmic riddle and you are in on the joke. You are my eternal playmate. At home in a fancy ballroom dressed to the nines as much as while squatting in the garden removing weeds in my old shirt and undershorts. You look like you take forever to get ready, though all you require is a comb through your lustrous auburn hair and perhaps a spot of moisturizer. Maybe a little gloss, to keep those luscious lips so kissable. 

You are a timeless beauty, lace and fineness. All these songs found their inspiration in your magnificence. Your thick mane bespeaks a strong personality and an indomitable will, though you willingly submit to the whims of the one you love (me). Which makes us a perfect pair, for I gladly and completely surrender to you. We are fellow travelers sauntering hand-in-hand through the wild adventure that is life. It is like we have known each other forever, our communion is that effortless, and yet our togetherness is so zesty it seems like we've only just met. Each moment renews itself and combines with the next one to produce a fullness so satisfying. We are an old couple as in love as the day we wed. Honeymooners forever.

Unlike the girls around town, immature and unsure of themselves as adolescents, and yet with all the baggage of a thrice divorced middle-aged crone, so many raw-nerved reactionaries with hang-ups and walls and conditions as entrenched as their bags and wrinkles, you remain as fresh as the day you were born. You unite the exuberance of youth with the wisdom of a centenarian. That is to say, you have had your experiences in the arena that is romantic love. You have even experienced some hard knocks. But you never emerged worse for the wear. Because love is a game, and you enjoy playing it masterfully. You are an adept. Why are you so hard to find? Are you playing hard to get? Are my criteria too unreasonable? Have I not looked in the right place? Is it me? Have I not worked on myself sufficiently? Perhaps I am not yet worthy of your affection. Maybe I'm insufferable. Dare I say it is not meant to be?

"The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplaceable being." That's my favorite line from my favorite book, a story of love and adventure and immortality, a story which not surprisingly makes me think of you. And the line recalls a lament a high school sweetheart once made to me. She said, "How can I be sure that you like me when you treat every girl the same? You are sweet and gentle with the entire sophomore class!" This sweetheart was a sophomore herself. I was a senior. Maybe I had a preference for girls not quite my age. But she had a point. In my eyes everyone is a unique and irreplaceable being. And yet in the romantic love that has been my lifelong quest, this virtue, to love all, a virtue at once humanitarian, universal, altruistic, the essence of Aquarius, not to mention life's highest aim, becomes a liability. For loving others as much as your significant other begets that green-eyed monster, jealousy. More often than I care to remember I have been accused by my special someone of flirting with somebody who is not my special someone when I am simply being nice. I am genuinely curious about people, so how can I not express interest in their lives and struggles? I see the best in everyone I meet. And if the one happens to be a female, I will find many things to admire, about her beauty, her radiance, her loveliness, her wit and charm, et cetera. 

Call me a girl watcher. An admirer. A fan of the female form and way. I admire males too. Why not? We all are great in our own way, aren't we? Do you who are also a lover humanity and a believer in the best in men see what is my biggest strength, that I love indiscriminately and without cause or condition, as a barrier to our union? I think not. I hope not. Because this is who I am, and I will never change. I am steady in this way. Yes I tend to grow tired of sameness. I may be fickle, mercurial even, in the arena of romance. I need my alone time, have my moods. I might even become bored by you. If it's any consolation, I am also bored by me, too. But I am also resilient, and I will always return to your arms if you have the patience and understanding to give me time. 

I've journeyed to earth to find you and find you are nowhere to be found. I've had a glimpse of you in the smile of one, the bright eyes of another, the laughter of a third. But these manifestations are imperfect and incomplete. Where are you, my beloved entire? Are you fated to reside eternally in the dreamland of my heart, to be merely my dream lover?

Maybe that's how it should be. As I'm sure you are aware, romantic love is an invention of the Roman poet Ovid. In its earliest incarnation romance was an illicit thing, expressed by wayward husbands not for their wives (who they married to secure property and tend to their estates) but - gasp! - for someone else's bride. Romantic love in its essence is for the "other woman." Which fits me to a T. For in my amorous history whoever I have loved was never you. And so in loving you I was straying. You have always been the one I wait for. As I wait.

I don't care if we never meet face to face, and I am resigned to the fact that we likely never shall. If you be fool's gold, I am your happy dupe. Because it is better and sweeter to be love after all. Feeling as I do for one so lovely as you, is almost the same as loving you. And so I gladly submit to the purgatory of almost. And I say to you what I have said and shall continue to say each and every day for the rest of my weary life: "Hello again, my darling." Knowing as I d o that this is yet another goodbye. 


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