After my divorce eleven years ago, I occasionally reminisced about my youthful dreams of love. Like most other girls from my era, I dreamt of meeting a very special boy one day. Of course, as is true with most youthful dreams about love, this young man was tall, dark and handsome, but there was more to this figment of my imagination than those three obvious outward qualities. My dreamt being was deeper than mere appearance, much deeper. To begin with, he possessed a brilliant and creative mind. When I imagined his warm hands, much larger than my own, holding mine, I felt protected, and the shelter of his embrace imparted safety and solace for my oft-insecure personality. All anxiety and concern drowned in the dark coffee-colored pools of his eyes. His smile, lips and kisses were so luscious, either of the three made me weak in the knees. His voice was extremely masculine, and merely hearing him talk or laugh would make my toes curl. However, there was one other attribute that was unique to my one special one, a characteristic that none of my friends dared dream. My one special one sang with a voice that made angels in Heaven envious.
As I matured, I convinced myself this man of incandescent imaginings would never materialize. “No such man really exists,” I told close friends more times than I can recall. After twenty-nine years of marriage and two divorces, I attempted to persuade myself this extraordinary man, the one special one who had consumed the fantasies of my youthful mind and heart might just be out there somewhere on this globe. However, try as I may, try as I might, I remained highly doubtful. Besides, if he did exist, how would I find him? I was certain my one special one was sheer folly, the figment of a young girl’s imagination, plain and simple. After all, the world is a huge place, or so I told myself, but before life escaped this mortal body, I continued to dream, hope and pray that I would one day meet this man.
One day like countless others that filled the years, days without a crimson circle around the date, a stranger’s path virtually crossed mine. The first time we spoke on the phone, he was in Sydney, Australia and I was in Jacksonville, Florida. I was mesmerized with his voice, laughter, brilliant mind and personality. My toes curled. When we met in Europe a few months later, I was weak in the knees for many reasons: his touch, his kisses, his smile, his very presence. A singer and professional actor of stage and screen, my soul danced in the heavens when he lifted his voice in song.
We eventually went our separate ways, and lost touch about five years ago. I believed I would never see him again, but was thankful for the time we had shared. However, I was even more grateful that he existed and that this amazing man’s path and mine had crossed. He was a living, breathing dream come true .
I was overjoyed last fall when I heard from this magnificent model of masculinity. Since then, we have talked many times, but he now resides in Europe. Just recently, I felt compelled to let him know just how much I appreciated him, so I wrote a letter telling him I knew we would never see each other again, but I was grateful for the time and love we had shared.
A few weeks ago, the phone rang early in the morning. On the other end was that immediately recognizable voice telling me he was in the United States, a few hours drive from my residence. Needless to say, we met once more. Our shared time of living, laughing and loving was glorious beyond description.
That girl who dreamt of this man all those decades ago only exists now in my spirit. Although youth has faded away, it is possible for youthful dreams to, sometimes, come true .