You will never find your perfect woman. Your perfect woman doesn’t exist. She will never exist. A lot of women might come close to that long checklist of what your ideal woman is like, but believe me, no one will never measure up to that ideal, perfect woman you’ve been looking for all your life.
You see, your perfect woman is just a figment of your imagination. An image projected in your mind, from your mind, containing all the secret and not-so-secret desires and beliefs that drift within the matter of your conscious and unconscious self.
Your perfect woman will always be your own creation. She does what you want her to do, she says what you want her to say, she thinks how you want her to think, and she always makes you feel the way you want her to make you feel. You, you, you. It’s all about you.
That’s not a relationship. That’s a dictatorship.
Because love — real love — is not about you.
Your perfect woman doesn’t exist, because if she did, she would only exist for you. Your perfect woman doesn’t exist because real women exist. With all their flesh and blood and bone and ever-unknowable, unpredictable essence.
And they do not exist for you.
These women are Real People, not Perfect or Ideal People. And Real People are the Who you love, Real People are the Why you love. Really, truly, and deeply love — not merely worship, idolize, or put on a pedestal. Not obligate, bind, or enslave to your desires.
You cannot love your ideal woman, that perfect, projected character you have constructed for yourself. Not just because she doesn’t exist. Not just because you wouldn’t love her as an equal — as a flawed and beautiful human being of the very same worth and power and substance, with the same capacity to be kind, or to be cruel — but rather, as an idea or illusion. Your illusion, in fact: of her as goddess of your existence, or subservient object of your so-called affections.
No. You cannot love your ideal woman, because even if she existed, you would actually only be loving yourself.
Because your ideal woman is you.
And love — real love — is not about you.