The perfect man is tall, dark, and handsome. And somewhere he is at a highly intellectual party, waiting to take advantage of the new girl. That girl that believes so much in true love, that she looks to new experiences to find it; that she will do whatever it takes to become accepted by him- if it means to indulge in something totally against her "unreasonably" high standards. But if that is the case, then is she not the perfect girl? Because only girls that are perfect would never risk dying to feel deep emotion. The perfect man is not he.
Is the perfect man away somewhere in his castle, sweeping his princess off of her feet? Maybe he is driving up to deliver the fresh cut white roses he bought.
Only perfect men buy those pristine flowers. But if there was a perfect man for every girl, then where are my white roses? How come I have never received love in the form of white roses. Even my father, whom I always thought to be the perfect man, has never bought me one rose that I can remember; yet my name is Elisabeth Rose. If God intended my middle name to be after a flower so delicate and pure, then was that the only form of flattery or love that I would ever receive?
I am not blinded nor sick. I used to be blind when I so desperately believed in true love and finding my perfect man, but then I woke up to the fact that every morning was the same for me, and that the only perfect man I knew was convinced he was a failure to his children. Where is the perfection in that?
Maybe my father was perfect in every way, but his mind had become something so disturbed that he lost himself completely, yet still desiring to hold on. But if his mind was not perfect, then what part of him was? Was it his heart? I like to believe that sometimes. Yet, there are so many things that came out of his heart that he so closely kept to himself. Those things were never easy to know.
From what I have come to know in all of my life and existence, it is that I had a very skewed idea about myself, about my future. I grew up wondering about love, and always being influenced to desire it- by my parents who had five children. But to this day, I know the secrets that were always kept high up above my head in a jar; or at least I want to believe I do. While I thought and so strongly believed that my parents had a perfect marriage- they were secretly suffering from inner illness that led to future trust issues on both receiving ends. It turned out that nothing in that was anything worth deeming "perfect." Rubbish.
There came a point in my journey to romance, that I found out who I was without the perfect man. How can you look for someone whom you have never met- if you don't know who you are without them. Truth be told, I didn't know who I was. And now that I have been through all of the loneliness and neediness, all of the ups and downs that come with finding true value in identity- I have figured out my own identity. It is not in some man that is supposed to make me "whole". Nor is my identity based on the idea that I belong with someone.
A
t the moment, the only one I belong with is my own self. Once I have established my identity, I can start to desire to know an others. My family needs me more than that man may, right now. It is so evident that who I have come to know, is the perfect match to the one that I have been searching for. And I found it. I found myself, after the breakthrough of not needing to look for someone else. Funny. Particularly because I laughed when others showed me their wasted time and effort that they so called their journey. But this, this is no waste of effort. It is not even a tragedy.
Men and women are so different, yet entirely similar. Although I cannot prove a man wrong nor right in his ways, but may only keep an opinion; I still have reasons to believe that the differences between man and woman are not different at all. You see a figure, a shadow- but the faces are different.
Yes, the shadows are somewhat the same. The figures, well they come in different shapes and sizes. But I am not trying to come to a conclusion about differences of appearance. I am merely only trying to persuade you to redefine your biased beliefs and conclusions on the perfect individual, the perfect one- he, the perfect man. Because although there may not necessarily be a perfect man and woman, there is possibly someone perfect in their own way. Their own shadow, their own figure. Yes, two shadows combined and sitting on a park bench or sofa chair make one big shadow, but that is what the universe is. That is what true perfection is. It is two complete shadows that come together to form one big shadow. So I have been told.
The idea of finding a perfect man is overrated and slightly skewed. Obviously. But wait until you are that whole shadow and you find that other whole shadow- then you may create something perfect. Like two building blocks that are combined and put together to fit- because of matching identities. Yes, I may not have found my perfect man yet, but that does not mean that he is not out there. He may be sitting somewhere on a park bench waiting for me to come join him. He may just be waiting on me. When all this time I thought so strongly that I was waiting way too patiently on him.
Perfect. There is such thing. Maybe it takes on a different form than what you were taught growing up to notice, but that does not mean that it is not true nor out there. It has to be. Because just like two building blocks fit together, there is another piece to the puzzle you overlooked. And that piece is so valuable, so worth finding, so perfect. Perfect just for you. And that is when the question what is the perfect man, turns into
who is the perfect man.
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