“I crave love, the purest, deepest and rawest form of it. The movie love, the book love, the Romeo-Juliet love. Just someone's careless kisses on my neck and my yearning lips. Someone to hold hands with and run into the sunset with. Someone I can write about endlessly, never getting tired of writing about how they are my sole galaxy in this dark universe, my one nice thing. About how every word that falls off their lips can put poetry to shame, or how his eyes have all my favorite colors in one place, right where I can see them. How his hands are rough and strong, and how mine are soft and fragile. How he would kiss my fingers every time I would remind him why I love him. How he and I would make each other mix tapes and pretend we're in the 90's.
I wonder if he would write about me too, that's the dream, two writers in love. Exchanging letters and small notes, proclaiming our love in ways that haven't been written about yet, with two different point of views for the same story. I want to dance with him, even though I don't know how to and I am sure he's a brilliant dancer. And I want him to sing with me, even though he is a terrible singer. I want to kiss him, which is nice cause we're both great kissers. I want to hear his far fetched theories about alternate universes and how he reckons we stumbled across each other, fate or sheer coincidence?
I want to fall in love with the whole person, and not just the idea of them I have constructed in my head. I want to love them for being shitty, for being sad, for being weird, for crying, for being pathetic. For being one hundred percent themselves, and being okay with letting me see every side they deemed unlovable. I want to kiss him lazily like we have all the time in the world and also urgently, like there's no tomorrow. I want to cuddle with him, trying to burrow myself deeper into his scent and him. That's what I think heaven will smell like, leather, cinnamon and him. I think heaven will sound like his voice, every goddamn thing he says sounds like honey and chocolate milkshakes.
Where are you?
When are you planning to show up?
I am exhausted even though I am only seventeen,
But I'll wait till I am seventy if I have to.”