Damn

I want to have someone to come home to, even though I don’t really have a home at the moment. I want someone to miss me every second. I want someone to make cds for, someone to write silly little notes and long, heart-felt letters for. I want someone to waltz with spontaneously under streetlights, someone to sing with, someone to have random adventures with. I want someone to exchange fun little gifts with, someone to take silly pictures with, someone to hold me when I’m happy and when I’m sad. I want someone who will notice how I look and love each tiny, quirky thing I do, even the annoying ones. I want someone to know me inside and out. I want someone who can’t help but kiss me and want to spend forever with me. I want someone who will argue stupid arguments with me, get mad, and then just forget about it. I want someone who is just as hopelessly romantic as me. I want someone who’ll decorate my room for my birthday and Christmas and sometimes on a random Friday in August just because. I want someone who will make me terribly content, someone who would follow me anywhere, someone who would lasso me the moon. I want someone who isn’t afraid to admit he needs me sometimes, who patiently and intently listens to the fragmented stories that only make sense in my head. I want someone to be there when I’m hurting and can’t explain, someone to tuck my hair behind my ears and whisper comforting things and then make me laugh. I want someone who is just as excited about the future as I am, who wants babies and a house and things all our own, who vows to never ever let life together get tedious or routine, who will grow old and stinky and forgetful with me and love (almost) every minute of it.



I want messy, glorious, imperfect, unconditional love.