To Whom it May Concern

Here's what I want—

Someone to wake up next to, to fall asleep next to, to roll over in the middle of the night and curl up next to. Someone who puts their feet on mine when mine are cold and who kisses the back of my hand, and my forehead, and even my neck—although that’s a highly ticklish spot and I’ll probably twist and turn to get away.

 

I want someone who keeps me calm. Who can look at me and without exchanging a single word, knows that something is bothering me—someone who recognizes the panic in my eyes and can stop it.

 

Someone who reaches for my hand (always reach for my hand, okay?)—when we’re walking to the car, when we’re waiting in line at the grocery store, when we’re having one of those conversations fueled by uncertainty and heightened emotions.

 

I want someone who says good morning and goodnight and how are you and I miss you. I want space in our lives that allows us to miss each other. I want weekends spent in bed together, too—filled with takeout and bad movies and naps.

 

I want you next to me on Christmas and during birthday dinners and at funerals, because not everything is going to be a holiday or something to celebrate. I want your eyes to meet mine from across the room and for your laugh to reach and bend around corners to find me—so I can take comfort in knowing that you’re nearby.

 

I’m not just looking for someone to go to dinner with or to the movies with or to take the trash out or empty the dishwasher. Although all of those things would be much appreciated, I’m perfectly capable and willing to do them on my own.

 

I want someone who sticks around for the not so fun stuff—the days when I’m being a complete and utter bitch (because those days will happen), the days when I go quiet because I need to think something through before I can talk about it.

I want someone who respects that. Someone who doesn't fear it.

 

I want someone who isn’t afraid to let me in. Someone who is ready. Someone who has done the work and doesn’t expect me to complete him. Someone who sees me as an added bonus to an already happy and full life.

Someone who offers up help without me having to ask, because I'm not always good at that. Someone who greets me with a smile and kiss, even after a year or five or twenty.

 

 

Here’s what I have to offer you—

I’m really good at cracking jokes and making people laugh and making someone feel comfortable. I’m also really good at making someone nervous. Basically what I’m saying is this: if you need someone to strike up a conversation with a stranger to pass the time or to ask for directions, I’m your girl. If you need someone to shoot daggers at a stranger who is being too loud in the movies/in line/at a concert, I’m also your girl.

 

I like to feel needed, so I’ll want to cook for you. I’ll also probably mess up something really simple, like Minute Rice, so bear with me. I’m a people pleaser, so I’m sorry if I ask you 5 times if I can get you a drink or if you want a blanket or need anything from the kitchen because I’m going in there.

I also say “I’m sorry” a lot—and mostly for things that are entirely not my fault/in my control. I’m sorry you had a bad day at work, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, I’m sorry your plans fell through. But I really am sorry—and I can get you something to drink??

But I know how to apologize for the big things, too. To recognize my faults and to learn from them.

 

Know that my poker face is shit and if I always look like I’m about to laugh, it's because I am.

 

I’ll be your biggest cheerleader. I’ll encourage you to do the thing you’ve always been too scared to do. Living in fear makes for a small life. I’ll stand beside you throughout, and hold your hand, and urge you to keep going.

 

But I’ll call you out on your bullshit. And I’ll want you to call me on mine.

 

I’m going to write about you; there’s no changing that. Writing is a part of who I am and anyone in my life is subject to it. That is the price of admission—but I promise to never expose anything too personal. 

 

I’m really good with parents, so introduce me to yours.

 

Here’s what: I’m not the kind of girl who will send you sexy pictures of myself wearing only underwear, or man crush Monday you. I’m not going to put “taken by” with your initials and 4 different heart emojis in my Twitter bio. I will, however, send you Snap videos of me using a Neti Pot and tag you in one too many memes on Instagram.

 

I’m awkward. You’re going to witness me drop things and walk into things and try to form sentences to no avail. I’ll trip over words and your shoes and invisible objects. But I will always laugh about it.

 

And I’ll make you laugh, too, even after a year or five or twenty.