I’m not a person, who fantasies about my future. I don’t care if I get married, have children or not, but I was sure about one thing - I wanted an intelligent man, with an intelligent career. Someone, who I will be able to have intelligent and deep conversation with. I never imagined a hair or eye colour, but I wanted him to be tall enough so I could wear high heels confidentially. I also knew he will be wearing a suit. Maybe not every single day, but as often as possible. I imagined him having a classic style. Even if we go on holidays, he will look classy. It was my perfection… I’m 19 now and I just left my ‘perfect’ man. He was 4 years older, tall, not bad looking, always with a suit, kind of the gentlemen, studies psychology and I could argue with him about everything and anything. Why did I left the one I desired? Because he was just a nice cover of the magazine, which contained shitty content. He called me ‘a piece of shit’ and ‘the worst person he has ever met’ more often than he called me ‘attractive’ or ‘beautiful’. Our first conversation was his offer to be ‘sex buddies’. His words said that he liked to have me around, to hug me, but his actions showed that he liked to touch me inappropriate and tried to see my lingerie more often. He made me feel depressed. I wanted to cry around him. I knew, if I stay, I won’t be happy. We would look great together, but what’s the point in all of this if I won’t be happy? I had to let him go. Sometimes a perfect man has to remain