I want

I want to fall in love with him.

I want him to fall in love with me.

I want us to fall more deeply in love with every discovery of each other and of ourselves.

I want to compose happy love songs, to dance my blood to the tune of us.

I want every passing day to bring my the absolute certainty that it can’t get any better than this, then to shatter that certainty each time it’s made anew.

I want to fall through the floor I thought was completely solid, just to find an even deeper level of enchantment where the bed of roses is that much thicker, and the reasons never to climb out again even more innumerable.

I want to share everything I have, every emotion and thought and dream—even the formless ones that I find incomprehensible myself. I want to pour my soul into him.

I want him to listen to me, not just because he knows I need to talk and wants me to have what I need, but because he thrives on me.

I want to listen to him, and feel my mind stretch for him and soak him up.

I want to get married to him, to bind myself to him for all of eternity, like Neodymium magnets approaching zero Kelvins.

I want kisses that last and that make the movement of the hour hand a surprise.

I want full, honest sex.

I want to fall asleep in his arms, tired and satiated, and to sleep until morning has come and passed, and to wake to his kisses, not caring for morning-breath or the demands of the outside world.

I want to have children with him, and live through the terror and joy of childbirth and rearing. I want my children to resemble us both, to take the best that we have brought out of each other into themselves, and to grow into better people than either of us.

I want to belong to him. I want to be possessed, owned and cherished. I want to possess, own and cherish him.

I want to know his name.

I want my wanting to end.