I know you’re out there somewhere.
I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know if I’ve ever met you, or ever will meet you. But I know you exist, somewhere.
And you love me.
You think that I’m amazing, and beautiful even before coffee and with morning breath and in need of a shower. You love that I’m a genius, even when (maybe especially when) I’m a cranky one. The high point of your day is seeing me smile, and you make me do so as much as possible. You tell me I’m beautiful, and desirable, and love that I’m geeky and like cons and have forgotten more about tech support than most people will ever learn. You love watching me lock on to an idea and lay out a plan to turn it into reality, and you’ll watch me sleep and stroke my hair and hold me close. You hold me when I cry, and know just when to give me a hug that makes everything a lot better or more bearable. You’re proud to take me out and be seen with me, and introduce me to your friends, and tell your family about me. You come out to my events with me, and look forward to earning my trust enough to be permitted to officially meet my children as my suitor, and understand that if I allow that things are tracked to permanent-serious. You understand that I’m a package deal with my children, and maybe you want to convince me to have a couple more with you.
You know how strong I am, and how fragile, and will do anything to protect me, and understand that I can protect myself but don’t let that stop you. You respect me, and will do anything to earn and keep my respect. You understand that even when I’m mad it doesn’t mean I don’t like you, and you have a deep admiration for me and don’t hold my broken body and psyche against me. You have my back and know that I have yours. You want me for me, not because I’m a redhead or the way I look or because I’m smart, not because I’m a trophy but because you love my heart and spirit and mind and soul. And if you ever meet me, you’ll never let me get away. If I walk away, you’ll follow. You’d never abandon me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever met you, or ever will.
But you have to exist. Somewhere. I have to believe that.
(Oddly, I think you have dark hair. Not a blond. And are probably a bit younger than I am, though not more than a decade.)