and I wait | dream | envision | hope

Sometimes-while sitting down at the local bookstore-I like to imagine I am watching my future husband (you know, the single guy opposite of you with no ring on his finger, or girl by his side) as he orders his cup of coffee and large cookie, picks up a few magazines about manly things, and then picks a table super close to you (close enough to where you can actually smell is cologne). I guess I find myself doing that partially because I am bored, because I am lonely, and because I kind of like the idea of meeting my "manly" future husband at a book store. 

The guy I procure as my visual impersonation of my dashing future husband is usually, well, handsome. Which, sadly, makes me cringe with delight. I eyeball him several times (hoping he doesn't notice I am making eyes at him) and then begin the process of daydreaming. It's probably a lustful dream. But I like to imagine my future husband doing something similar. I like to look at guys faces and try to envision what my future husband might resemble. I make mental notes of the manly things they're doing, because I want to be up-to-date on these things, knowing that one day I will have to pretend to enjoy them, too! 

Yeah, on one part, it's a lustful experience. Especially when the guy is dagum cute! However, on the flip side, it does cure the aching of a lonely heart to imagine what one's future husband might be up do that very moment. Could he be entertaining himself with hunting magazines? Or reading a syfy novel about Startroopers or evil Warlords? Or could he be writing in a very weathered journal, filled with wrinkled pages in which he's poured every ounce of his emotions onto the thick lined sheets of his book-his personal refuge. 

And then, I imagine he has earphones in and is listening intently to every word the lyrics produce. Maybe...maybe he's listening to Josh Groban or The Piano Guys or The Canadian Tenors. And maybe, just by chance, he's listening to that music and wondering where I am-envisioning his future wife there in the same location, grabbing a coffee, reading a book or journaling expressively and deeply

And whenever he looks up, I can't help but wonder what he's looking for; is he searching for me? Is he looking at me or dreaming? I find myself fluffing my feathers occasionally, and admiring his love for literature and expression. But, never does it go any farther than wistful thought and imagination. A dream is a wish your heart makes...and my heart not only wishes, but aches for the man of my dreams to come soon. That God would bring him into my life and say "here, my daughter, you have been patient, trusting, and good; now I give back to you what you have surrendered to me so many years ago--the chance to find that earthly romance. Well done, my faithful child".


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