Woodland Hills, Utah
© e.gosney 2014

I expect it to be a relief of sorts. Not the kind of endings, that something has finally ceased to bear down on my all-too-weak and all-too-impatient shoulders, but rather an exhale and a renewed breath. A completion of one part and the hope and excitement for the next.

It isn't ornate or involved. It is but one hand finding another and grasping it for the first time. Then the body fills up with something new, as the exhale makes room for ... that. That smile I can feel on my cheeks and lips but can't yet form. Not yet. That fulfillment I can imagine but have not encountered. Not yet.

He will take my hand and I his and I will dare not look, in fear it is an illusion. But then I will glance down, the unreachable smile will take hold of me, body and soul, and I will dare raise my gaze to meet his. Whoever he is. Blessed man who lines my imagination, whose unknown being fills the capsules of fairytale men I read about, of actors I see. And to think, those are all fake, stuck to the pages and the screens that gave them life. But the man I will someday meet is real. He exists. I like to think he exists for me and I for him, and though we exist perfectly well apart, when we meet, when out hands find one another's at last, we will begin to understand we never wholly existed at all before that moment. And we will never be the same again, nor would we want to be.

Indeed, I expect it to be sigh, a relief, a gasp of air as I attempt to breathe in every ounce of that moment when I finally find the one I dream of, the one I seek. And the moment he finds me.