Perhaps I ask for too much. Perhaps I don't ask for much at all. It's probably the former, it's all in the eyes of the beholder.
Well, let's begin. Being male is a prerequisite. A man who's there when I need to talk, and can trust me enough to talk to me. A man who will look at me with the same dumbfounded and blissful look that I will give him. A man who's willing to put up with me on my apathetic days and carry me through my fits of sadness and believes in me when I won't. A man who's willing to go on adventures with me one day and the next day be able to sit and cuddle on the couch while watching stupid Netflix documentaries or cheesy musicals. A man who will be able to walk down the street, his hand interlocked with mine and not have a single ounce of worry about what others would say, proud enough to be seen beside me. A man who will take cute, artistic photos with me in the snow beside a frozen brook even if it's just to make me happy. I've got more things I like, but perhaps I should leave those to myself.