Maybe I Want Him A Little Dangerous, Too

I’ve never wanted the perfect man or a perfect love. I’ve always known those weren’t real, didn’t exist, only a fantasy. Sure, I’ve dreamt about a ‘good guy,’ the one who will treat me right and love me tenderly, but I’ve never wanted perfection, because frankly, perfection is boring.

And none of us live up to perfect anyways.

I’ve always wanted a man who could love me fully, but drive me wild, light a spark in the depths of my belly, make my heart sing and dance and do backflips.

That, to me, is real love. Beautiful. Passionate. Real.

I’ve always wanted a man who was strong, strong enough to match my strength, strong enough to handle my sass, strong enough to love me without drowning me.

And strong enough to know that no matter how deeply I love him, I will always be my own person.

I’ve always wanted a man who would treat me right, but skirt on the dangerous. Not always do the right thing, not always let me win the argument, not always be so damn good, but make mistakes and raise his voice and pull me towards him and kiss his apologizes onto my lips.

I don’t want someone who is static, who thinks that he has to be cautious with me, who thinks he can’t express his true feelings for me or reach for me when he wants me close.

I don’t want a man who’s too afraid to love me that he withdraws.

I want a man who isn’t afraid to love, to feel, to be emotional and vulnerable. But maybe I want him a little dangerous, too.

I want him to kiss me fully, grab my hand in public, say things that he knows he shouldn’t just because he wants to. Because he’s not holding back anymore.

I don’t want perfect, I want open and raw and scary and passionate. I want real.

I want the ways he doesn’t do the right thing, the ways he will fail, the ways he will make me angry and make me question, because that’s what real love is—all the ups and downs and pain and craziness of two sinners falling for each other.

I don’t want to idolize him, to put him on a damn pedestal and try to live up to his expectations. I don’t to spend my life trying to please him, or for him to feel that way about me. I don’t need him to be anything other than who he is—a flawed child of God who will forever struggle and forever be sinful. Because that’s what I’ll be, too.

And maybe it would be wonderful to imagine the man for me as blameless, shining in the sun and all I’ve ever dreamed of, but that’s not real. And honestly, I don’t want that.

I want a love that’s big and broken and beautiful.
And I want him just as his is— and maybe a little dangerous, too.