“I want to make all your fantasies come true”, he whispers softly in my ear, before turning to look away from me and back towards the sunset we have just watched together.
My eyes begin to well up with tears and I get a catch in my throat. I clear it – a quiet “ahem” – and blink the tears away before he can see the effect his words have had on me. He is trying to be sweet. I know. I wish I wasn’t so damaged. I wish I wasn’t so… well, … me. I wish I could tell him in words that would make sense that my deepest, truest, most primal desire is not what he thinks it is.
My fantasy – the thing I imagine and long for and throw pennies into fountains for – isn’t a house, or a car, or even to win a game show, as cool as that would be. My fantasy is simply to be loved. Oh, to be a woman who is seen through the eyes of a man who thinks he has found the last true treasure on Earth! To be admired, cherished, kept safely in the arms of another. It is all I have ever wanted, and it is the only want of mine that as of this moment, has eluded me. I don’t tell him. I don’t know if I will ever tell him, but for now, I choose not to spoil the moment.
Attitude Soup 