Sometimes I daydream about holding someone’s face in my hands as I kiss their forehead. I try to imagine the unbridled affection I might have… how I would drown in their essence, their brilliance, their brains and their hearts and everything that made them them. How they would have the same wonderful qualities as everyone else, perfectly somewhere in the middle — as there is always someone better than you — but they will be painfully special, all on their own. Their skills will be theirs, their brand of wit all their own, and their kindness built up and sculpted through all of their choices and experiences. On paper, they will be just like everyone else, but to me, no one else could take their place.

I struggle to continue. I have never mutually loved. I have never dated. I struggle to daydream further.

I struggle to imagine the pure affection being reciprocated. I try and picture someone kissing me on my forehead, in love with me and all my imperfections, averageness, and lack of any extraordinary talents. They are in love with my above-averageness in some places, and below-averageness in others. I try to imagine that out of everyone in the universe, they picked me, not solely because I was in the right place at the right time, out of loneliness or grief, or because I fell in love first. 

That alone is usually unrealistic enough for me to stop daydreaming, but sometimes I am particularly sad. I am particularly lonely. I am particularly wondering.

I fumble and desperately try to wrap my mind around a fantasy where I was just my unrestrained self, hoping I’m shining, running… leaping… striving with all my might to be the person I want to be.

It is a silently deafening dream, a hope I seldom whisper: that even though I might be un-extraordinary, someone out there fits with me... and together, we might be extraordinarily happy.