If this piece shimmers with the fantastical feel of a fairytale, it is rooted (with unwavering honesty) in Claire Cunningham's own thoughts and everyday life.

As she conjures up her ideal man – building him from the crutches that are her daily partners and support – there's an aching universality to the frets and dreams woven into her imaginings. Who hasn't wondered if they are lovable, desirable or destined to stay single because of some off-putting flaw?

Cunningham embraces these doubts in a bravura dance-work that puts her very being – her body, disability and its effect on her self-image – on the line. She questions if she will click with anyone, and the word echoes the metallic sound from her crutches. Then her crutch-man comes alive. Cunningham's agile virtuosity with crutches translates into episodes of romantic partnering with Christopher Owen, who lifts and spins her with a liberating elan. If she moves thrillingly without crutches, their presence is never far away: they become the symbol of what brings them together, but keeps them at arm's length.

Meanwhile, superb animations by Gail Sneddon wrap around the space, conjuring shifting locales or floating Cunninghams's spoken words into fleeting view, creating striking visual imagery that adds subtext to the choreography. There's humour – Cunningham has a flair for comedy noir – but what lingers is the optimism that transcends the fanciful wish lists. Crutches and all, she's ready to click.

Commissioned by Unlimited, and in partnership with National Theatre of Scotland.