He's Korean, 6 ft tall, 180 lbs, has two chest tattoos, and packs heavy.
He's the man of my dreams.
But he really isn't.
I thought he could be. I thought he was what I wanted. He fit the description, he fit the dream.
He was exactly what I had been hoping for, begging for, praying for, all these years.
But he really wasn't.
I thought, that being with him, I would feel proud, and happy. That I would finally be content.
He was so nice, and caring, and interested in me, and that's all I needed, right?
You know the answer to that one.
Because the problem with dreams is that they aren't reality; they're filled with assumptions, and creations of the mind, imaginary features and storylines and mythical characteristics which, in reality, do not exist.
He's beautiful, he's gorgeous, and he wants me.
But I don't want him.
I don't want him, because he's rough around the edges. Because he does, without thinking, without considering who I am, what I want. Because his ideals and morals are completely misaligned to mine, in a innate, immovable way. Because he cares about himself, so much more than he could about me, and because he's misguided. I've lead him astray. He believes that, in me, he will find that docile, sweet, submissive, cute, demure Asian girl, who'll give in to his every demand cheerfully, who'll comply with his way of life, and his style of thought.
But like I've always said, it's just my eyebrows.
I'm not that girl, and honestly, I don't think that girl exists. But either way, I'm not the one he's looking for, and neither is he the one I'm looking for.
So maybe I went into this the wrong way.
Maybe I need to stop searching for a dream.
Maybe I need to start searching for reality.
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