What if you stopped accepting bread crumbs from men who don’t know how to see themselves, let alone you, and started to choose the men who not only see but adore you?

The men holding two coffees and croissants in the sunshine after returning quietly and saying, “I’m sorry I had to leave for a minute. This is so amazing, I’m overwhelmed. I had to breathe into how right this is.”

What if the first time he met your friend, he turned to her and said, “What’s it like being friends with the most interesting woman in the world?”

What if the next time you were gushing about your day and happenings, he smiled as big as Texas and shook his head and said, “I can’t get over how incredible you are. Everything you do. Everything you say. I’m so enamored with your heart and mind. Your voice. Your thoughts.”

What if rather than calling you last minute, he calls to say, “Come outside. I’m taking you on an adventure for the weekend,” and took you to your favorite nook in Topanga—with views overlooking the rolling hills and the sea beyond. Where frogs and owls hooted and cried up at the full moon while you made love softly and tenderly and fell asleep curled amidst the mess of each other?

What if the first time you met his friends, their eyes lit up with the light of friends who can see that he has finally met his match? And they swoon over that, and you with the presence and interest of a thousand suns?

What if the first time you showed him your pain, he loved you more tightly than the times he’s witnessed your light? What if he ate up your inherent humanness and vulnerability left by other men-ness and went, “I am not any man who has been. No one is more equipped to love you than me. And I love you not because you need me, but because I couldn’t possibly not love you. You are all I want.”

God—you are it.

You are it, baby.

And don’t waste another second on the ones who don’t know it.