I want to fall madly in love.
I want to feel like they are Unquestionably and Whole-heartedly my One.
That we are connected in every way.
That they ‘get’ the essence of me.
I want to be engaged.
Proposed to in Europe.
Swept off my feet.
It’ll be such a romantic story.
A story with such swoon it could be an Oscar Winner.
I want to have a wedding.
I want to get married.
I want to be my beloved’s ‘other half’.
I want a fantastical dress, with tulle and swing, and lots of embellishments.
With a huge petticoat.
He'll wear velvet.
I’ll wear Irregular Choice shoes in a bright hue, with glitter.
I’ll craft and wear a head piece from flowers and feathers and a little veil and there will be tokens and symbols scattered throughout it that relate to Our Story: Twigs from his childhood garden. A movie ticket from our second date, folded into an origami bird, perched on top of a photo of our dog.
I’ll walk down the aisle to the Smiths, or Bowie or the Cure.
We’ll both cry. But not in a shit way.
It’ll be a very small ceremony, maybe just at the Town Hall.
Or in a garden.
Our parents and best friends will be there.
But afterwards there will be a party.
A huge party.
With free flowing Aperol Spritzers and the Greatest Playlist Ever.
Our wedding cake will be four tiers of four flavours and will have fondant icing because for some inexplicable reason I have always really fucking loved fondant icing, and though I’m happy to go without, my husband insists that we must have fondant on our wedding cake.
We’ll dance to 2am.
And lie outside under the stars.
Swigging from bottles of prosecco.
And make wishes.
Like the world is about to end.
And at the very end of the night when it’s just us left, I’ll lie there, under those galaxies, nestled in his nook, and I’ll tell him I love him, and he’ll say that this is the happiest he’s ever been, that he loves me so much, that life begun when he met me.
And we’ll grow and learn and live and love and evolve together whilst always keeping our own identities and passions and nurturing each other.
I want all of that more than anything.
My heart aches for that.
But I do I believe that you can be with one person forever?
Until death you do part?
That you’ll never grow stale, bored, or drift apart through no fault of anyone, but just because that is who we are as humans, and actually, to not change or evolve or change your wants in life, is a very sad, immobilising and scary thing.
I do not think that is possible.
So what does a Hopeless Romantic, who doesn't believe in Forever do?
She hopes to be proven wrong.
She hopes that there is an exception.
And that exception, whoever he is, will find her.
Because she is also an Optimist.
And always will be.