Well, the man of my dreams had to be a mystery. I had to meet him, but hate him, and be shortsighted by his pride. It had to be a jane austen love story. Yet, a letter or some other greatly outdated but still romantic thing had to happen, and then slowly we would both be won over by the greatness we finally see in each other, and slowly envelope each other in our lives forever. Well, this is exactly what happened. I met the man of my dreams through a friend of mine. We both hated each other, but for the sake of our friend we tried to be civil. One day I felt horrible for hating him, so I wrote him a short letter, an olive branch of sorts. Well, for the next two years we kept writing, and then he asked me out, and the man of my dreams has come out of the dark, and I see his face, hear his voice, and kiss his lips every chance I get. I am so lucky, and I don’t want to ruin my chances with my very own ‘Mr. Darcy’.
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