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the perfect person

I can’t remember when was the last time I’ve been into the mushiness and sentimental and hopelessly romantic mode. I actually miss being giddy.

And now, while I was cleaning up my email (note: emails from 10yrs ago), I came across this forwarded article from a former officemate. this is a sweet article, maybe also because it was written by a guy. so i just have to post it–for the rare mushy moment’s sake, here it is. ūüôā

stay in love,




The Perfect Person
J. M. Whitaker

For as long as long as I can remember, I have been searching for the perfect girl. Since I was old enough to begin longing for female companionship, I have been on the hunt. I guess it started out as just a simple dream or fantasy, not unlike most of us. The strange thing about it was that it never stayed just a dream or a fantasy. The more people I dated, the more times I was let down, the more I hungered for that perfect person, the one that would fill all of my needs and desires, the one that would never let me down.

I dated girl after girl. Some of them were great while others got me into¬†some trouble. Some of them made me laugh,¬†but a lot of them made me cry. Through my journey, I found a lot of joy¬†and a lot of sorrow, a lot ofhappiness and a lot of pain, but never the perfect girl. I had dreamed¬†about her. Dark hair, darker¬†eyes, a slim figure tinted golden brown from the sun. She had an accent¬†and could play the¬†cello. She would love to talk, but wouldn’t expect me to talk too much.¬†She would always ask me how my day was and would¬†always have a smile on her face; absolute perfection.

After much pain and heartache, I began to believe that the perfect girl just did not exist. Then one day, I found her.

Her name was Malia. She was from¬†Hawaii, raised in¬†Italy. She wore silk¬†pajama pants to bed. She had written a¬†novel. She loved the beach and hated cats, just like me. She had silky,¬†dark and curly hair that swayed¬†perfectly if the breeze was right. She had a caramel colored body, etched¬†out of a block of pure perfection, and her¬†face was that of an angel. From the very first time I saw her, I could not¬†seem to take my eyes away from¬†hers. She was like a siren, calling my name, beckoning me closer to her,even when she was asleep. The attraction was¬†complete, with no faults, no annoyances. Every time she spoke she¬†mesmerized me and every time¬†she moved she amazed me. She was… well, perfect. Oh, and did I mention¬†she played the cello?

We spent all the extra time we had together. We spent so much time¬†together that we decided to move in together. We were¬†paying rent on two places, but one of them was doing nothing but¬†collecting dust. We would sit on the¬†porch when it rained and hold each other. We would¬†lay¬†on the beach and¬†soak up a sweet combination of sunrays and¬†pina¬†coladas. Life was good. No, life was perfect and I knew it just¬†couldn’t possibly get any better than¬†it was right then and there.

Two years later, Malia left me for a career-opportunity at a really prominent university in Europe. There were no harsh words, no angry feelings, not even any sad good-byes. She was so perfect that if she wanted to leave, I wanted it for her. That is, until she was gone.

I cried for days, and began to drink for weeks after that. I felt as if my life was over, that the only reason that I had existed was gone, and every breath I took from that moment on was a futile attempt to hold on to  something I later found I never had: The Perfect Love.

Malia was perfect. She was perfect in each and every single way, but I was not. Our love for each other was a deeply committed one, but it was far from perfect. I know that now, but if I could go back in time to tell myself that in an attempt to save myself from all of that pain and suffering, I fear I would not have listened to myself.

I was wiser, but to this day, the decisions made left coldness in my eyes that made my heart appear as lead toanyone who dared look. I became a loner, staying home on the weekends, saving my money for a healthy but lonely retirement, having accepted my fate. I was to be alone for the rest of my life.

Then came Kathy with a K. Actually, her name is spelled Kathyrn. Quite peculiar, but¬†I didn’t think so until later. For the¬†longest time, I never even knew her name. But she was a sight for sore and¬†lonely eyes. I saw her at¬†work. I was her boss (actually, I was her boss’ boss) and did not want to¬†risk the chance of even speaking to her. She was just¬†too beautiful, and I had become a beast with a past too horrible to¬†mention. I would just watch her¬†as she passed my office every day. She didn’t walk, she frolicked, and I¬†would sneak out for a break whenever she did¬†just to watch that frolicking. She smiled every time someone spoke to her,¬†a smile like the early morning¬†sun, and her eyes were so dark that you couldn’t see her pupils, only the¬†glimmering from the light that made her eyes¬†look like two bright stars. I was under her spell and I didn’t even know¬†her name. One day, watching her¬†outside, I convinced myself to ask around about her. Find out her name and¬†maybe even find out if she was seeing¬†someone. Just as I had decided that she spoke to me.

Kathy with a K. She ended up asking me out, you know. I told her I¬†couldn’t that night because I had to work late.Actually, I was too scared. I called her and asked her if she wanted to go¬†to Starbucks after work the¬†next day and she agreed. It turned out to be the most romantic night of¬†both of our lives. We were both still pretty new in town¬†and didn’t really know our way around. I had no idea what I was going to¬†do or where I was going¬†to take her next so I winged it the whole way. Like I said, it turned out¬†to be the most romantic night of both of our lives. It was perfect.

She was not perfect, but neither was I. We both carried a truckload of¬†emotional baggage and we both had a mountain¬†of flaws. But it was perfect. She would always forget to plug in her cell¬†phone at night, but I wouldalways remind her. I couldn’t do laundry worth a flip, but she showed me¬†how. She could never get to work on time,¬†and she hated to drive, but we both had to be at work on time so I drove¬†us both there. Whenever¬†she was slacking I was always right over her shoulder, and when I would¬†lose track of what I was trying to do, she would help¬†to keep me focused. We complimented each other in every single way.¬†Neither of us was perfect, but¬†we were perfect for each other.

When you’re out there looking for that perfect person keep these things in¬†mind. People change, no matter how hard they try not to. As you grow¬†older¬†you¬†mature, and with each new level of¬†maturity come different ideas, different needs and wants. The person who¬†was perfect for you at twenty¬†could be the person you hate when you’re thirty-five. You have to find¬†someone who will grow with you, change with you,¬†laugh with you and cry with you. A person who fills in where you lack, a¬†person whom you can fill in¬†for when they are lacking. But what about the perfect person, you ask?¬†They do not exist. Even Malia was not perfect¬†because the perfect girl in my dreams was supposed to stay with me.

There are no perfect people, only people who are perfect for each other.

I always thought that love was something i’d know the minute it¬†appeared. That there would be drumrolls and bells ringing as love swept¬†me off my feet.

No one told me how quietly love could appear, or how humbly.

That someday i’d look up and there it would be,¬†waiting for me in¬†a pair of familiar eyes… I never expected i’d find somebody to love in¬†you…¬†i¬†guess¬†i¬†never knew love the way i do now.


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