I Want to Look Forward to You Too

There's a question on my intake form. What's your idea of the perfect day?

People assume I'm asking to know what to plan. I'm not. I'm asking because I want to know who you are when no one's watching. The version of you that exists before the title, before the room you walk into expects something from you.

I read every answer slowly. I'm not looking for the right one. I'm looking for you.

Here's what I don't say on the form, but I'll say it here. I want to feel something too.

Not performance. Not obligation. An actual pull toward seeing you again. The kind that makes getting ready feel like a ritual instead of a task…the care I put into choosing what I wear, what I smell like, how I want to feel walking through the door. None of it is for show. That's me, already looking forward to you.

So when I ask who you are, what moves you, what makes you curious, what you think about when you're alone…I'm not collecting data. I'm finding out if this is mutual.

I want to be met. By someone who isn't intimidated by a woman with opinions, a woman who asks questions, a woman with a mind that won't sit still. Someone who finds that magnetic, not inconvenient.

If you can meet me there, I'll already be looking forward to seeing you.