You’re A Dream, Darling

The day I met the love of my life felt so surreal. It was a quiet and sun-soaked Sunday afternoon. The night prior I had a peaceful evening where I got a hearty eight hours of sleep, on the dot, so I could wake up fresh-faced at six in the morning to get in a shower and then have a welldeserved, nutritional breakfast of overnight oats and an omelet made from farm-fresh eggs and locally grown bell peppers. I awoke to the sound of my alarm and promptly turned it off to thrust my feet into my pink bunny slippers that are placed parallel to my bed every night. As I went through a montage of outfits with differing aesthetics that I would never actually wear, I settled on a basic outfit consisting of an overpriced plain, white t-shirt; a neutral-toned, chunky knit cardigan; black, flared leggings; and a pair of tan sandals. An ensemble I knew I was going to end up wearing in the first place. I had just finished my weekly devotion of gratitude— a picturesque brunch filled with bottomless mimosas and empty laughs with the girlies— when I found a sudden urge to fill the empty void inside of me by ignoring my real problems and taking myself on a hot girl walk through our wondrous city to find an obscure form of entertainment. I surprised even myself as I walked into the public library. Yet, once I was among the stacks of stale literature dying to be cracked open and truly appreciated by a pair of eager eyes and flitting fingers, I felt a sense of calm and tingling excitement all at once. I found myself casually perusing until I arrived at the mystery section and made a beeline for my favorite author— Caroline Keene, of course. Nancy Drew had been my favorite for as long as I could remember, but this system must have been set up in a strange order because I could not find it until I got to the end of the aisle. A wave of comfort crashed over me as my hand reached out for this book of wonder and stolen je wels when it suddenly made contact with something warm. A man’s hand. Going for my book. I looked up and met this stranger’s gaze. I should have pulled my hand away. He should have pulled his hand away. Yet, neither of us moved. We stayed in this moment for what simultaneously felt like forever and not long enough. I suddenly wanted to study every part of him in case I might not get the chance to again. His calloused and sturdy hand attached to a strong, toned form enveloped in a black, leather jacket and brown V-neck sweater. He wore a pair of Levi’s that hugged him in the right places and exposed the top of one of his hips. His chestnut brown hair fell in his face. And that face— I was not a religious woman, but it had to be made by the gods. A straight nose, long face, high cheekbones, furrowed brows, and plump, peach-colored lips left him in a sort of pout. A perpetual state of sadness and seriousness. Round, wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose and I had to fight the urge to reach out and fix them. Or kiss him. One or the other. The moment broke and we pulled away from each other. “I’m sorry,” he said bashfully. Oh, you touched it first. It’s yours,” I said as I averted my gaze from his to the floor and a blush crept over my entire body. There was nothing but silence, and I thought I had just royally humiliated myself. How could I exist in t he same space as this man AND have the same taste in

a book? It was unheard of. And then it happened. It is hard to say how much he wrestled with himself on this decision that would affect the remainder of his life on this Earth, but without another word needing to be spoken, he did the one thing that could have made me blush for an entirely different reason. He reached his hand out and extended this deeply loved piece of literature to me. I did not know his name. I did not know his age, his background, what he did for a living, or if he even spoke the same language as me; but that was not important. Who had ever heard of losing out on love because the two of you had differing core values and believed in two separate after-lives that discredited the other’s views to the point that you grew to resent each other? Not me.

How did I know that I had found something special? Well, how can I possibly explain it to someone who has never experienced the true magical touch of the love bug? Let me take a moment to contemplate my own blissful existence with a partner that understands and sees me for who I truly am—- as long as I am in complete wrinkle-free attire with effortless makeup that took six hours to perfect and a smile that stretches from ear to ear while my eyes speak a thousand sad songs.

If you look too long, I will break. Good thing he never looks me in the eyes anymore. He is so dreamy.

As we got to know each other more, the more responsibilities that he took on and the less that I had to worry about. He began to choose what clothes I wore, what friends I had, and what I did in a day all because he cares so much and wants me to be awakened to the best version of myself. He is so much smarter than I am and thank god for that. If I had not met him, I don’t know how I would navigate this crazy world. He makes me feel like I am walking on clouds while telling me all of the things I wouldn’t understand as a woman. I couldn’t ask for anything better… right?

WRITER NATASHA MARTIN GRAPHIC DESIGNER NICK PIPPEN