Maybe we have both rushed things in the past—I know I have tumbled foolishly into love far too many times.

My heart is tender—she is real, and she can’t take fast-paced, whirlwind romance disasters anymore, so I have one request for you, sweet and wild mystery man of my future…

Let’s take it slow. One breath at a time. One date at a time. One sip of spicy red wine blooming on our tongues like roses at a time.

Be patient with me. I’ll be patient with you.

Let’s exhale, and allow this to unfold like a yard of tangerine silk fabric—unveiling itself, layer by layer, in its own perfect time—letting it bud, then blossom, just as it is meant to.

Good things aren’t meant to be rushed, and what is destined to exist between us is like a chocolate soufflé—it needs time to rise and settle into its truest, most delicious form.

I want to talk. I want to get to know you, to see the man behind all the things you do, to sneak peaks at little cake slices and slivers of your juicy heart. I want to see if our hearts dance to the same electric beats, if our souls are both on a ballsy quest to seek truth and adventure thirstily through life.

I don’t want this unless you fit me like a glove.

I want to be certain.

Because when our lips lock in a beautiful first kiss outside—the grass glowing neon green from the perfect amount of rain and sunshine, fireflies lighting up the night with specks of magic—I want to be ready.

I want our bodies to draw together like magnets, knowing it’s right, relaxing into the sublime rightness, savoring it vividly.

I want our feet to get wet on the dewy grass, toes muddy, hearts smiling, falling asleep underneath an ancient oak tree, talking about the moon, philosophy, religion, heartbreak and truth as twilight falls upon us like a starry blanket and tucks us into each other’s arms.

Let’s go deep—but slowly. Very slowly, like a striptease of two hearts, like a sunrise revealing her colors, one apricot-drenched cloud at a time.

Let us unpeel this love with care, with tenderness, letting it ripen like a plump, blushing raspberry.

And when our hearts are ready, when the leaves of this love are crisp and emerald green, we will rip it off the branch carefully, eagerly, and we will share the berry and the burden equally—cherishing it, savoring it with wild hunger, forever.

I want us to be best friends and then lovers, letting each other into our secret worlds a little at a time, revealing small truths like whispered teasers to movies, then finally unveiling the whole screenplay when the curtain goes up and our hearts are buck naked beneath the moon-struck sky.

I want us to know it’s right. To feel it in our guts—a fact, a truth, a reality—not a fantasy, not a question.

I don’t want to guess.

I don’t want to stretch myself to make us fit—and I won’t be someone else to make you happy.

I’ve done that too many times and ending up exhausted, thin, hollow and broken from pretending—from bending and from forcing two heart pieces together that almost fit, but just don’t, not quite.

I want to be me, and I want you to be you. No masks. No pretenses. No bullsh*t.

I want us to fit naturally, organically.

I want to take you apart like a puzzle. Take me apart too—yes, when it’s time—unwrap every inch of me like a present, and I’ll show you everything I hide from the eyes of the world. I’ll show you the scratches on my soul, the wounds on my heart, the spicy ginger-like flavors of my feisty mind.

I’m not ashamed of my darkness, my grittiness, my roarin’ femininity, and I want you to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into to.

I want you to witness the shockwaves of my lightning-like intensity, and I want my wild flames to make you weak in the knees—to spark a glittering glint in your eager eyes and an accelerated heart rate in your chest as a wicked smile spreads across your mouth, telling me that you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.

No man has ever before been able to handle me—but I know you can.

You won’t back down from a challenge, will you darlin’?

Well, I’m your challenge. I’m your tornado. I’m not the flimsy foam on top of your latte—no, I’m the espresso beans grinding, flying around with electric pulses and pouring into your bloodstream, jolting you the f*ck awake.

Don’t worry, I will love your raw fire, too. Your gentle fierceness. Your strong, determined mind. And no, I will not be afraid of your oozing masculinity—I will love it, cherish it, eat it up by the spoonful and appreciate you for all you are.

We will both be excited weave our lives slowly together—thread by thread, seam by seam—because you are a man who doesn’t shy away from the responsibility of having kids, starting a beautiful family, being an open-hearted warrior. You will be up for making this real.

You won’t turn away, you will be be electrified by it all.

You will be my warrior, my equal, my fellow adventurer and passionate explorer of life, and I will love you fiercely. I will not hold back the petals of my messy heart from you. I will let you in—slowly, but truly—and I will set you free with every trace of my fingertips along the ridges of your back.

We will make the world more beautiful together, we will make art every time we kiss.

I will paint you to life in the sleepy thickets of my dreams, with the vivid watercolors of my tears.

I can’t wait to meet you.

But I’m not ready—yet. Maybe you aren’t either.

I’m still rising from the ashes of my pain, I’m finding confidence, my purpose, my truth—and I’m just starting to wake up and realize that I deserve an astounding, amazing, toe-curling, comfortable as my favorite sweater, wild as the wind, beautiful love.

And I know you’re out there. I can feel you.

I’m right here—but I’m not ready, not yet.

I need time to heal, space to grow and bloom into the bad-ass woman you will someday love.

I need to become whole.

And when the time comes, we’ll recognize each other instantly. I know we will.

Our hearts are both flames—spirits written in stardust, sealed with gritty truth, souls both longing for something deeper, something more than an ordinary love.

Until then, I’m working on me. I hope you’re tending gently to your heart’s needs too.

Be ready for me.

I’m a storm, so it’s a good thing you like the rain.

I’ll appear to you like a golden streak of lightning in the velvety midnight sky. I’ll appear to you, when you least expect it.

Watch for me. Wait for me.

When our lips meet, our hearts will exhale, our mouths with smile, and the air will be filled with the satisfied sighs of two souls finally finding their mates.

It won’t be perfect, but it will be right.

Be patient with me.

I’ll be patient with you.

This will be the love we’ve always longed for, the love we almost stopped believing in.

We will finally know it’s real.

Until then, my love…

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Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Unsplash