
A few nights ago, as I was winding down for the night, waiting for the last kid to take a bath so I would be free of my duties, I went over to my window and gazed outside. In the dark blue vision of night sky was a beautiful display of twinkling stars-- mine for the viewing. Being the self-proclaimed "recovering love addict," I couldn't help but think, "ah, how wonderful it would be to enjoy this sight with a man I loved." How could I not think that, when I was so taken by its beauty, and at moments like that, I want to share it with the one I love. But there's is no such person right now, so I stood there gazing in awe on my own.
And something occurred to me.
I've been taking quite a beating with the hard knocks of falling in love lately, and thought I was nothing but a hopeless romantic. But as I remembered hearing a line in a movie: I am a hopeful romantic, not hopeless. I realized there must be at least one guy out there who is looking up at the sky at the same
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