MFH

I don’t know who he is. But he has strong arms, and honest eyes. A hairy chest, and valiant smile… the kind of smile that rescues me from a bad day, takes me to a far off place, and turns my frizzy hair and chipped nails into objects of beauty.

He’s passionate. He plays a sport/an instrument. He’s a family man… an uncle, a godfather, a favourite cousin, a younger brother. And he loves Jamaican food. He’s honestly passionate. He doesn’t say he loves things to impress anyone. He loves what he loves and it makes him even more attractive to me.

He’s fallible, but graceful. He’s human, but heroic. He offers constructive criticism, even though everything I do seems perfect to him. He understands that nobody is perfect, but recognizes that we’re a perfect match because we’ve learned to balance our differences through interdependence.

He communicates. Well. And we don’t always have to talk too much… we’re content with belly rubs and head scratches. He thinks sucking toes is gross. He’s sexplorative, but holds good hygiene in high regard.

He’s nice. He doesn’t have to be extremely good looking or have straight teeth. He could have a lisp, or slightly crossed eyes, or a hairy back. Minor details that are easily overlooked… overshadowed by his vibrant personality. He’s a plethora of useless and useful information, and thus, he’s a great conversationalist.

He understands me and us and all that encompasses us. He’s humorous, has umph, has drive… and he’s more than all of this.

He’s MFH.

And if I meet him soon… that would be… wonderful.