Writing Prompt, 2

Dear Dream Guy,

Are you out there, sweatpants-wearing, messy-haired boy? If you are, please holla at your homegirl. I promise to love the tailored-fit black suit in your closet. The one that only comes out when both you and I are feelin’ real fancy. Don’t worry - I promise I’ll love the scrubs you rock way more.

You get to me when you say thank you and smile at the cashier in that way. You know, the way that makes your skin wrinkle by your eyes in the shape of crow’s feet. The smile that reaches up to your large, gleaming pupils that tear into mine like a pleasant tornado.

If you exist, I know that you care about the world, but don’t take it too seriously. You recycle and help strangers, but you also laugh - a lot. And when you aren’t, you’re making me laugh - even more. Lost luggage? Whatevs. Late arrivals? All good. You hop, skip, and jump through our days with an inflatable energy that bounces me to the sky.

Know that because you have no societal shame, I'll egg you on. You don't notice when people stare and I'll smirk because I don't care. Naturally, we look like a couple of goons walking hand in hand– mine adorned with neon green fingernails, yours with a giant scrunchi from the 1980’s.

For a guy, you're not really a "guy." You love midnight coffee-time and unsexy pillow-talk about things we can change and things we can’t. Maybe, if I’m really lucky, you’ll study my face as hard as I study yours when you wake up last.

If you are out there, dreamy boy, make yourself known. Until then, I’ll be here. Chillin. Waiting for the day when I’m walking down a deserted street and accidentally bump into a scrubby boy who giggles through his squinty-eyed smile with a “Sorry! Didn’t see you there!”, somehow still managing to keep his latte intact.