Why do we love men?
I often find myself in the position of asking this question. I read a few articles on the subject, and they only touch those obvious features of men.
I like a man who looks me in the eyes while having a conversation, and sometimes at my mouth as if watching words roll out of it.
I like a man who looks at me amused, like watching unroll a child drama, with a smile in the corner of the mouth.
I like a man who overlooks the fact that I have stuffed my face with candy.
I love a man who takes his time smoking a cigarette, looking all preoccupied.
I love him when he gently arranges one of my hair locks.
I love a man who becomes serious before kissing me.
I love it when he holds me near through my daily drama.
I don’t want to give this too much thought since I want to capture exactly those things that make them unique.
And then I ask myself whether I love myself, and if I truly loved myself what do I expect from him, the man.
It’s such a stereotype to tell a woman she smells nice. Other than the fact we take showers, we would like you to notice that our hair smells like lavender. That we put an effort into smelling like a flower. I think it’s nice to hear it from time to time.
My body is not a temple. Unless you consider the fact that it hosted 2 human beings at some point, it has nothing to do with a temple. Still, I would like for you to worship it sometimes.
I know you are not my father, but please allow me to act like a spoiled child sometimes.
Put a mark on your calendar every 28 days or so, and throw chocolate at me if you see me hostile. It will work as long as my mouth is busy, but it will guarantee some affection later on.
We are partners, equals, I am weakest in every way possible. Don’t expect too much, comfort when possible.
Maybe I am just too demanding, probably I am just like my mother (and sometimes I even sound like her), but I am a woman, your woman.
