One of these days, someone is going to like me the most.
They're going to meet me, and think I'm so amazing and captivating and engaging and lots of other words ending in "ing" and they'll thank their lucky stars that fate smiled on them so brightly as to bring me into their life.
The phrase "good enough for now" won't even be in their vocabulary.
They'll think that I'm smart. That I have good taste in books and music and movies. That the clothes I wear are inspired. That I'm not perfect, but that overall I'm a good person.
When I smile at them, they'll feel it in their stomach.
They won't have any emotional disorders. They'll have their own lives, but relish participating in mine, and sharing theirs with me. They won't need alcohol, tobacco, or marijuana to enjoy my company, or the company of others. They won't need a big hunk of meat to enjoy a meal.
They'll believe in God, and be awestruck by the intense beauty of the world surrounding them.
They'll be able to laugh at themself. They'll be optimistic. They'll be reliable. They'll be adventurous. They'll be respectful.
They will buy me the pink and yellow roses instead of the red ones, because they'll know that I think the red ones are boring and impersonal.
And lastly, they'll be phenomenal in bed. Or the kitchen, or the park, or the car, or wherever we happen to be. I'm not picky.