Sarah mother flippin’ Harvey. A goddess of prose. A wordsmith like no other. Her lyrical whimsy is so powerful and always seems to find me when I need. You may recall I shared her incredible words a while back in 2015 – have a looksie if you’re keen – and rather serendipidously her words have found their way back to me again. So while my words ain’t flowing (the creative tap is well and truly fixed to ‘lock’ position at present) – I shall borrow these and tip my hat to her sheer brilliance.
I’ve waited for you forever, but forever is over—I’m done waiting.
I take a more active role now. I free myself, I heal, I speak, I dance, I live—I pour my heart out and laugh—stepping boldly out of years of silence and suffering, masks and pretending and epic disguises.
I stand naked, without any armor whatsoever—for I know that to find real love, this is how I have to be.
It is enough.
For my heart is juicy and open and ready—she seeps out like a ruby sea, no longer willing to apologize for her passion and thrashing intensity, and no longer able to appease anyone by being a shadow of herself.
No, I must be whole. Holy, in all of me.
I run my fingers down my flesh, for my body is ripe. I feel a succulent springtime dance across my skin, blossoming one bud at a time. The air around me smells like mud and the sweet, sultry scent of lilies—damp, but full of hope, like the forest after it rains.
I am subtly confident, coming into the fiery petals of my not-so-subtle femininity, no longer filled with doubt that my quest for love doesn’t deserve a downright epic ending.
I ask for what I want—what I need—without shame. And I ask—I long—for you, my love. I call out to you. Because I know that you are already here, longing also for me.
I could never settle again. And I won’t. My soul thirsts, my heart roars—only for you. Only ever for you.
Do you hear me?
I hear you. I hear you whispering in the winter winds; I hear your pleas to find a woman like me when I sing in the shower as the sun is rising, hot and red, over the mountains meadows I love to dance and run through and scribble poems in.
I am ready for a man like you. There is no lingering question about that. Readiness is all I taste on my lips now.
Yes. I am ready for a man like you—a man who knows his soul is map to eternity.
A man who laughs hard and kisses softly.
A man who touches me like I’m a marble masterpiece and shoots me to the moon with pleasure like I’ve never tasted in my life.
A man who is just as warrior-fierce as he is gentle and kind.
A man who can cut the rope of his fears, dust off his old pain—and keep going.
A man who knows how to pray. And play. And run free. And thinks maybe they’re all three the same thing.
A man who loves with all of the passionate power in his heart. Every pulsating ounce.
A man who is not perfect—screw perfect—but strong and kind and brave, and always working on himself.
I am ready for a man like you—a man who can weather blue skies and wild, stormy days with a wickedly curious smile spread across his face. A man who knows how to weep.
A man who is moved by nature and beauty, humming songs to blossoming buttercup buds and caressing soft, emerald leaves.
A man who hits rock bottom—and chooses to become softer and wiser from tasting the darkest depths of suffering.
A man who can f*ck and make love in the same breath.
A man who craves adventure—sudden journeys into shady mountain evergreens, exposing the molten passion of our quaking souls as we read each other poetry.
A man who can honestly love a dangerous woman like me, as I stand firmly in my passion and purpose, never again wavering from the hot truth that vibrates in my voice.
Hear me, hear me—I won’t be quiet. I can’t tone it down, but I know you’d never want me to.
I am ready for a man like you—a man who can pick up a drill and a freshly cut flower with ease.
A man who wakes in the morning and tastes the milky red sunrise—savoring it, as he does his coffee, as he does his life.
A man who stands up for himself, for others and for this world.
A man who knows how to get sh*t done.
A man who knows the delicate art of not-doing.
A man who looks at me with his eyes, but mostly, with his soul piercing through.
I am ready for a man like you—a man who knows who he is.
A man who takes no crap and speaks his mind.
A man who lives in the raw, jagged, oceanic depths of life.
A man who is boldly committed, tied at the knot—to his own truth—and the blossoming jewel of his identity.
A man who licks his lips and tastes mine with a frantic fervor like this breath could be his last.
A man who never keeps me guessing at where we stand.
A man who takes my hand in public proudly.
A man whose brave heart drips down his chin like the ripest mango, because he knows that vulnerability is the answer to almost everything.
And above all—a man who believes that love is a stunning mystery to jump into with both bare feet.
I won’t settle.
It’s only been you—only ever you.
With open arms, I invite you to the altar of my soul. Bring pink lilies and your wide open heart—that’s all I’ll ever need.
Please take good care of my heart, and I’ll care for yours like it’s my favorite thing in the world, because it will be.
These words rise up in my throat like smoke as I send out this wish—this prayer. It reaches heaven in swirling echoes that smell like juniper and sage and sandalwood.
The embers burn in my belly, my inner fire sparks to life—I burn. For I know it’s true.
I am ready for a man like you.
I know you’re ready for a woman like me.
And so it is.
The diamond-studded hope of finding love becomes, not any longer a fantasy, but a very delicious reality.
BY SARAH HARVEY
Blessings and word porn for the win x
Images sourced here