I don’t want promises painted gold at midnight only to peel by morning. I don’t crave fairytales that fall apart the moment reality touches them. I just want someone who looks me in the eyes and says — “I can’t guarantee always… but I can give you honesty. I can give you the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get messy. The kind that stays soft even when life turns hard.” I want real. I want the kind of connection that doesn’t vanish when I forget how to smile or when I show my scars instead of my skin. I want fingertips that trace not just my body, but my brokenness — and still choose to stay. Don’t promise me forever. Promise me presence. Promise me truth, even if it’s inconvenient. Promise me warmth that doesn’t run when I collapse at 2 AM. I don’t ask for perfect. I just ask for real. Because real is rare, and rare is enough to be everything.