It's Beautiful

I had a beautiful dream last night. It was about a Soldier. He had returned from duty, and had nowhere to go. People were not treating him kindly or giving him the respect he deserved. He had been home for several days, but was still wearing his uniform because he had nothing else. He was looking for a job. He had to go to the soup kitchen for food. He had to sleep on a park bench.

This isn't the beautiful part, can you tell?

Then, I was walking. Through a college campus. I don't know why it was a college campus; I'm not even in college yet.
He was there. Standing there. I looked at him, and thought "Oh, a soldier." I usually smile at them, just to express how grateful I am to them; after all, they put it all on the line for us. For me.
But then, our eyes met.
When you make direct eye contact with a person, you can tell alot about the person. About what they think of you. About what they think of the world in general. Even about what they are going through. Their joy. Their hope. Their dreams. Their pain.
I saw this young man's story in his eyes. And it broke my heart.
This young man wasn't particularly handsome; nothing out of the ordinary. He was about 6 feet tall, stood with excellent posture, but I could tell, even under his thick and baggy uniform, that he had strong, well-developed muscles, that had probably saved his life several times in combat. He had toussled black hair, which was just starting to grow out longer than his military crew cut, and piercing eyes. I can't tell you what color his eyes were, but I like to think that they were light brown with green in them. His jaw was square, his eyebrows were thick, and lent a contemplative mood to his expression. His face was just starting to get scruffy, because he hadn't shaved in several days. He wasn't handsome, by what the rest of the world judges as handsome, but to me, he was the most perfect person I had ever seen.
I walked over to him, and I could tell that he was steeling himself for yet another harsh, unfeeling, and uninformed judgement from yet another harsh, unfeeling, and uninformed person. But I didn't. I didn't judge, I didn't criticize, I didn't point out flaws. I simply loved him.
I loved him because he was another hurting human being. Because nobody else would. Because he needed me.
And maybe because I needed him.

I walked up to him, and told him how much I appreciated the sacrifice that he made for me on a daily basis.
I gave him a hug. I thought it would just be like a brief little hug like the kind you give somone to let them know that you are there for them; the kind of hug that says "I'm your friend, and I will always be there for you, and don't you ever forget that somone cares"
But it wasn't. I had given him the hug to begin with, but he accepted it, and then gave it back to me. He held me in his arms, and for fifteen whole seconds, I was complete. And I think he was, too.
They say that Disneyland is the most magical place on earth... They were wrong.
Then, he looked me in the eyes, and said "Thank You" in the most emotional, meaningful, powerful, wonderful, musical, heart-wrenching, beautiful voice I have every heard. And it meant the world to me.

Then, he kissed me. It wasn't a long kiss, it wasn't even on the lips, but he kissed me. Just a small kiss, on the cheek. A kiss on the cheek, but an imprint on the heart. Embossed there. I will carry it with me forever.
And I loved it.
Nobody has ever kissed me before.


Then, I woke up, and I wept, because it was only a dream.
I want to marry a soldier.