Once, I thought love was about perfect matches. About "he must," "he should," "he always." I was searching for someone who would fit the list in my head: strong, attentive, with a sense of humor but serious, gentle but masculine... Sounds familiar, right?

But one day, I got tired. Not of men — of expectations. I realized that by looking at people through the lens of "perfection," I simply didn’t see the people themselves. I was falling in love with images I created myself — and getting disappointed when they didn’t match reality.

Then I was left alone with myself. Not for a week, not for a month — but for as long as it took to hear myself again. To understand: love doesn’t start with who you are looking for, but with how you live. How you accept, feel, forgive — yourself first.

And then, without pressure or a rush, love came back. Quietly. Gently.
It didn’t come with fireworks.
It happened in a glance. In a conversation. In the ability to be near and not pretend.

Now I don’t look for the "perfect man." I want a real one. With weaknesses, with a past, with alive emotions. Someone who knows how to feel. Who isn’t afraid to be himself. Who chooses me — not because I’m perfect, but because I’m real.

Love isn’t about perfection. It’s about acceptance. About a journey together.
And now, when I know how to love again, I don’t strive for an ideal.
I strive for closeness.