Better a silly girl with a rose than a silly boy with a horse and a stick

I race through the day in my head, straining to remember where I met him.

I hadn't.

That is right.

I have never seen him. I have never met him

I don't even know what he looks like.

I wish I did.

Maybe he could help me make sense of everything that was happening.

Maybe he could save me from my loneliness.

sometimes I close my eyes and imagine him, I can see his silhouette, admire him from a distance, with a bright light blocking out his figure. Sometimes I can see his clothes, the line of his muscles flexing. But I can't see him.

I don't know what he looks like, or even what he acts like.

it kind of makes me sad.

but then I think again. I know what I look like. What I act like. What I like. And can't that be enough.

I know who I am. I know where I come from. I know I am special. And I know he is special.

I know I am not ready to meet him, I know I must prepare. I know that, when the time is right, I will know that he is my Lance. I will know that this man, whoever he may be, is the one I chose to spend eternity with. Then one I am willing to be with for the rest of my life, and beyond.

I am glad I know these things. For without them, I may perish from despair, loneliness, and boredom. I am glad to know that I can find myself with out assistance from some man, as some think they need. I only need God and the people he places in my path, teaching and rearing me until I am ready.

When I am ready.