I want to love you well.

Like most things, my perspective on love has changed.

As a young girl, I always assumed I would get married and have a houseful of children because, well, that's what women do; I played Barbies and house and baby. As a teenager, I wanted a fairy tale romance that would sweep me off my feet; we would, of course, hold hands at the fair and cuddle up at the football games--the most important places to be coupled. As a college student, I wanted a partner in crime--someone who shared my vision for life; I thought that, maybe, together we could accomplish more.

Now, I just want someone to love. I want to prove myself as a partner. I know that I could love someone well, but I don't get to and that kills me. Now, it's less about being loved and more about being able to love someone else. I want to be your support, your greatest fan, your intellectual match, your closest confidant, your wisest counsel, the one who laughs the hardest at your jokes, and the most welcomed, tender touch. I want to love you.

I feel like part of me is being wasted and it is, perhaps, the most frustrating feeling---ever.