Britney dreamed of showbiz. Hitler dreamed of power. I dream of perfection-not worldwide, not professional. I just want the perfect man.
It's not about his looks, there is no perfect there. A black man with deep, piercing eyes and a granite body is just as sensual as a golden Apollo of summer, green-eyed and proud.
It's not about how piercing or gentle his eyes are, it's what he sees with them. I want him to look at me and see more than one dimension. I don't want him to be lazy with his words and try to restrict his view of me to "love" or "bitch." He doesn't have to understand every facet of my personality- that's not perfection. Perfection is not knowing everything, perfection is knowing what you can and trusting that the rest will be okay.
I don't care if his hands are big or small, gentle or rough, as long as I can trust them.
I don't care if he's good with words or not, both have their evils. I just want to believe his words without regretting it later.
Most of all, I don't care if his heart is healthy or dying, as long as it's still pumping blood. Because it doesn't come from the heart, it comes from the hormonal glands. I just hope he has good intentions.
