I Want You

I have been waiting years for the certain element called "love". I've felt it for what months? Years? (The time is hard to tell) for you, but to have it with you would be a phenomenon. Do you know how often I think about you? About what could be? The subjunctive mood takes it toll on "love" when it comes to us. I've become a fan of waiting, being your scapegoat and eagerly wishing to be yours, to hold your hand, to be the reason behind that brilliant smile.

I want you. Plato says that morals are relevant to the individual, so how about we become an individual being and make our own morals? Can we make our loves ours? Will our story be a compelling one?

I want to hold your hand in public, I want to drink coffee with you, I want to make you laugh by being cynical, but I also want to provoke your thoughts by being so. I want to be yours on winter nights, darling, I want to feel your warmth as I curl up in your lap. I want to hear the heartbeat, beat. Beat. I want to make a rota of who should make the breakfast in bed and I want cute showers. I want to wash you, feel you, pull you closer and tease you. Gosh I want that smile behind that wet hair. I want to dry you, to touch that skin. I want to be sleepless about you, I want you to haunt me in my dreams and my nightmares. You always made it difficult to distinguish between the two.

But I don't want it all to be perfect. I want blazing fights and flaming passion. I want petrol to be added to the fire we have. I want angry arguments, swearing. Fuck. Bitch. Slut. Twat.. I need a bit of roughness, putting in my place. Do you not think I am so outspoken sometimes? Did you ever see Taming of the Shrew? I want arguments, but I want there to always be a solution. I don't want you to ever fall asleep mad at me, but I want you to fall asleep holding me in your heart closer than ever. We both know how hard it is for me to hurt someone. I could never intentionally hurt you.

You know the morning after exactly how I'll roll out of bed, covered in bruises from the make up sex, in your t shirt, too big for me as it hangs off my back. You know how the cigarette will look in my mouth, you know how your boxers will look on my bum, my thighs, against my skin tone. You'll just know, know, know. You'll dawdle outside into the sunrise with me in the garden, looking ridiculous in oversized clothing, and you'll light up your own cigarette and just gaze. You'll know. You'll know how much I've ever wanted you. You'll see the smoke curl out of my little mouth as I smile up at you. I hope you know, know, know. 

You'll be getting ready to leave, but you won't want to. I'll roll on the bed, smiling up at you, toying with my lip, teasing you about leaving. You'll sigh in defeat. You'll get into bed once more, and we'll love, love, love and sleep and love some more. You know your kisses are forever my favourite breakfast. Joy Division will play in the background and half full tea cups will be left on the bedside. We'll love and talk about death while we love. I'll kiss your scars, your scars. I'll make you feel better. In fact, no, I'll just make you better, you'll be okay when you're with me, and even long after I'm gone, sweetheart, I'll make you okay, you'll be better, you'll be okay, even if I'm not here anymore, I promise. You are my mission, my heart, my murderer, my favourite flavoured pizza, you are the sun, the moon, the stars, you are the first drag of a cigarette, you are the last rolo, you are getting into bed with shaved legs, you are the ultimate thing to me. Ultimate sensation. You enlighten my senses, you set them ablaze, they burn, burn, burn.

I want controversy. I want to piss people off. I want people to say "She's with him?" or "he's with her?" I want people to talk, and you know they will nonetheless, so I would want us to lap it up, play along with it. What use is a love story if there is no one around to critcise it? It'll last a month they say, but they don't know, they don't know about us, about you, about I.

They're not supposed to know.

Do you know how difficult it is? To love someone who won't believe it? I'm the girl who's sat back and watched you be hurt, over and over, your heart breaking, my heart breaking. You get jealous over me, and why? Shall I spend the rest of my life as your fool? Bottling up my emotions, my wants, my needs, my yearnings for you? Not even you know how I can only get to sleep if I imagine you holding me, those arms around me, protecting my body, protecting my soul...

I hate how vulnerable you make me feel. You can crush me with a few words and leave me hanging for hours without giving any care. I miss you. I even miss you hurting me, it feels raw like a fresh wound, like I'm rubbing salt in it more salt, salt, salt. What am I supposed to do? I love the hurt, I love you. You broke me. You left me. Now you're back and I'm smitten again. It was fine before you came back, but it won't be fine if you leave again. I'm in so deep, deep, deep. Drowning under the ocean of a bittersweet love. Everyone knows if you are rough with such a fragile element, it breaks, tell me, are we broken? Broken?

I need a chance, a little tiny chance, I don't get chances very often, but you're the one that matters.

I want, want, you.