It is a matter of fact that women will talk about 'the one'. They will find and lose 'the one', they want to marry 'the one', they think the stunner that they saw pass them by on the street without a second glance was 'the one'. But in my opinion – though I have no idea who cares about that – there is a variety of different meanings to the term 'the one'.
Firstly, there is 'the one' who you see, you watch, you fancy and you like, the guy that you feel no one will ever match up to. Though god knows why you feel like this – you don't know him. You barely speak except for a few soft words. But he is what you want (for a while). He is your crush, and when people call it by its name you dismiss it and tell them, insist that "no, I've never felt like this before. I think he's the one." But of course nothing ever happens, and at the end you feel upset, disappointed, but quickly and swiftly you move on, you find the next one.
And the next one leaves you in a drunken state, reeling from his beauty, his wit and charm (though most of this would not exist, were you sober), amazed that a guy like this could pluck you out from the crowd in the club, amazed at his skill at making your heart beat like a drum, at making that strange, odd sensation 'down below', between the top of your legs. 'The one' you wish would literally pick you up off your feet and sweep you away, bed you, the first guy to do so...
If it weren't for the fact that you had a hotel room booked with your best friend, or told the girls they could sleep over, or he offers to sleep on the couch and you take his bed.
Then there are 'the one's that you meet when you are not so drunk, whose room you don't go back to because...because it's just not right. Those that you meet again, and think seriously (for once) about sleeping with. You make a promise to yourself; third time, third date, when I see him around New Years Eve...
It hurts when they don't stick to the plan, when they cut off contact before the moment you dream about.
'The one' that you are seeing, dating. You don't tell your friends that this time it really is different, that you feel something for him that makes you skip to work and makes your heart thump from seeing their name flash up when a text arrives, whose very voice makes you felt. You don't tell them this, but you know it, you feel it...and it fucks up. And you vow not to feel like that again, you won't fall like that again.
Then there is that guy who you've met once or twice, whose company you enjoy, who you don't think twice about because it'd be too good if something happens. Then it happens, and you float on air when it does, despite the alcohol making your vision swim and causing odd decisions – offering to pay money for a bed at a house party to sleep comfortably, though in hindsight the sofa is just as comfortable. Making you rush from a lift in fear because you don't want to go back to his, not yet. Not just yet.
Then there is 'the one' whose side you never want to leave, who makes you feel that the world really is a good, safe place. 'The one' who makes you realise what love really is, who you want to stay with forever, who you want to marry and whose children you want, the fairytale Prince Charming...
I've met all of these, except the last one. I'm still looking for my Prince. But the other 'one's shape you; they make you into the person you are supposed to be. They help you grow and mature, along with your friends. Every one alters you in some way, in some slight way that isn't really noticeable until you look back on yourself.
In the space of a year my heart has beat to ten different rhythms, I've swapped numbers and names, and I've stayed up all night talking. I've laughed and cried and screamed and raged. I've grown up. I've changed. I don't think any of them realise it, but no matter what's happened I don't regret any of it. I've had crushes, I've slept next to the guy I've had my eye on all night.
I'm still a virgin; but I've come to realise that doesn't matter.
What does matter is they had their chances, I had mine. I can say all I want that I would've, I could've, I should've, but I didn't. Different names, different nights, and I wouldn't change this year for the world.
This is my story, my gap year.