He’s Still Out There, waiting for Me???

 They say he’s out there, sipping chai,

Patiently watching the world go by.

With calm that could soothe a stormy sea,

He waits, he dreams—oh, just for me.


He’s kind, intelligent—a walking TED Talk,

Yet humble enough to not mansplain a clock.

He reads, he writes, he’s sharp as a tack,

Doesn’t ghost-text or leave me on "read back."


But let’s be real, has he lost his way?

Did Google Maps lead his heart astray?

I’m here, dear future husband of mine,

While you’re playing chess with Father Time.


I hope he’s the calm to my hurricane flair,

The yin to my yang, the shampoo to my hair.

He’ll listen to rants, never cut me off,

And laugh at my jokes (even the ones that are scoff).


I want him witty—yes, with wordplay divine,

And maybe he can cook, because I can’t boil brine.

A man who dances when nobody’s there,

And shares all his fries, because that’s only fair.


Sarcasm? Oh, let him master that art,

A witty remark is the key to my heart.

But let him be tender, with eyes that just say,

“I’ll love you tomorrow as I do today.”


He’s out there, I know, in some parallel time,

Dreaming of metaphors and silly rhymes.

While I sit here, a queen with her tea,

Waiting for him—well, patiently-ish—under a tree.


He loves early mornings, the sunrise gleam,  

I’m nocturnal, thriving on a midnight dream.  

He’s meditative, with yoga’s zen thread,  

I stretch... but only when crawling out of bed.  


He’ll read dense books, philosophies that last,  

While I binge true crime, murder from the past.  

He likes his veggies, kale on his plate,  

I’m team "fries and chocolate"—isn’t that great?  


He’s the calm to my storm, the peace to my rage,  

I’m a Netflix subscription; he’s an old, dog-eared page.  

I roll my eyes when he hums old-school tunes,  

But he’ll bear my obsession with 90s cartoons.  


He’s a mountain trekker, chasing the sky,  

I’d trip on a pebble just passing by.  

He’ll talk about stars, cosmic and true,  

While I’m busy wishing for WiFi that’s new.  


But love, oh love, it’ll balance the scale,  

Like butter on bread, or wind in a sail.  

We’ll laugh at our quirks, let differences play,  

A mix of his logic and my cliché.  


So, future partner, take your sweet time,  

Finish your chai while I perfect this rhyme.  

We may clash, collide, like fire and sea,  

But that’s what will make us... perfectly we.







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