Woman I Want — Letter 10: A Sapphic Dream of My Perfect Sort of Person

Summary

The text is a heartfelt and detailed expression of the author's hopes and dreams for their ideal romantic partner, painting a vivid picture of domestic bliss and shared interests.

Abstract

The author pens a series of heartfelt hopes for the woman they desire, envisioning a life filled with shared routines, tastes, and passions. From the way she enjoys her coffee to her favorite pajamas, the author longs to learn and cherish each quirk. They imagine a home adorned with pastel rainbows, filled with the scent of vanilla from freshly baked cupcakes, and alive with the quiet companionship of reading side by side. Art is a central theme in their vision, with a desire to surround themselves with local and abstract pieces that celebrate their queer identity. The author dreams of a partner who is as comfortable in her own skin as she is in the author's clothes, and who shares a love for the finer details in life, from Shakespeare to the perfect wedding dress. Ultimately, the author hopes to meet this woman soon, to experience a love that feels as though it has always been there.

Opinions

The author has a specific vision of their ideal partner, down to the most intimate details of her daily routine.
There is a strong desire for domestic harmony, with an emphasis on creating a shared space that reflects both their personalities.
The author values the quiet moments of companionship, such as reading together or enjoying the silence of a snowfall.
Art and culture are important to the author, who wishes to engage in deep conversations about their partner's obsessions and visit museums together.
The author seems to appreciate the comfort of routine, as well as the joy of unexpected moments of connection.
There is an evident pride in their queer identity, wanting

I hope you …

Dear Woman I Want,

I hope you wake up at the same time every morning, even on weekends, and need a few minutes to blink really hard and flex your fingers and toes before you get out of bed.

I hope you take your coffee in a very specific way, because I want to learn it perfectly, and I want to see the look on your face when I bring you a cup made just the way you like it. I hope you are overly attached to a mug with a cursive quote on it like Love Is Love.

I hope you have an overwhelming number of comfort novels that you simply have to have in the house, so that they and mine can vie for space on our bedroom bookshelf and eventually we have to make room for them on the shelves in the hall.

I hope you like muted colors and wooden furniture and yellow curtains — the kind that cast the whole room in a soft candlelit sort of glow when the sun shines through in the mornings. I hope you paint pastel rainbows on the ceiling in the hallway.

I hope you like cupcakes, because I love cupcakes, and there is little I love more than trying to make them new and unique. I want to be like Vianne in Chocolat, convinced with every batch that this one will be your very favorite, and I want you to send me back on my quest each and every time. I want the house to be warm and smelling like vanilla all the time.

I hope you like cats, and the quiet, and watching snow fall. I hope you appreciate the intimacy of sitting beside each other on a couch and reading at our own separate paces.

I hope you are the sort who buys a set of silverware and then abandons half of it in an out-of-the-way drawer because you’ll only use the little spoons and the forks with three tines. I hope you are the sort to buy throw pillows and then leave them on the floor because they’re always in the way.

I hope you have a deep and personal appreciation for art. I want to visit MoMA every other month and stare at Object for three-quarters of an hour. I want to hang paintings until it’s anyone’s guess as to what color we even painted the walls. I want to hire some local nobody to paint abstract art in a spectacular array of colors — I want every guest to see the pieces and think there are queer people here. I want them to know this is a happy house.

I hope you wear one size bigger than me in everything, just enough so I can steal your clothes while still being fiercely protective of my own. I hope it drives you mad and that you send me an angry text each time you find a sweater missing from your wardrobe.

I hope you have one subject or more that could be called an obsession. I want to listen to you talk about Shakespeare for hours. I want to read entire libraries on the Renaissance since it interests you so. I want to take notes on countless articles and magazines so I can converse on all your very favorite topics.

I hope you change into your pajamas as soon as you get home from work, knowing full well I don’t put mine on until right before I go to bed, so that we go through our entire evening with you in sweatpants and me in office wear.

I hope you are always forgetting where you left your slippers, knowing I can’t stand it when people walk barefoot around the house. I hope you always manage to break all your hair ties, both so I can give the snapped ones to the cats to play with and so running out to get hair ties becomes a bimonthly necessity.

I hope you decide to wear a wedding dress, the kind that marks the day as yours, so you can field all the compliments while I busy myself with the cake — hoping no one pays too much mind to the woman in the suit who is overconsuming red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

I hope you are someone who falls asleep quickly, so that when I have insomnia I can lay there and try and match my breathing to yours until I soften into the pillows.

I hope I meet you someday soon, and I hope I don’t know it the second I lay eyes on you. I want it to creep up on me until one day I’m looking at you and I feel it like it was there all along.

Yours,

— — —