I want you.
I want to sit with you, in an apartment that's ours.
I want to buy furniture with you.

I want to eat Indian food with you,
and watch stupid sitcoms that are on tv with you.

I want to adopt a cat with you.
I want to read books while holding hands with you.

I want to cuddle with you for hours when it's raining outside.
Hell, I want to get caught in that rain with you.

I want to dance to my Frank Sinatra record collection.
I want it to be our collection.

I want to drive, really really far with you.
Like, really far.
I want to spend that much time in a confined space with you.

I want to run to Waffle House with you at three in the morning when we're high.
So, I want to get high with you.

I want to come home, to our home, and just be with you.
I want to sit down and file tax returns with you.

But, more than anything,
I want you to be happy.

So, if that means
you want nothing to do with me, then
I want you to forget me.

If you don't want to see me again,
I want to disappear.

If you want to run away from me, like I'm a problem,
I want to run in the opposite direction.

But, if one day,
you want me in return,
I'll be there.
You're all I've ever wanted,
and all I ever will want.

'Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
Said he, 'the milk I need,'
I wanted to spit in his eye
Of selfishness and greed;
But did not, for the reason he
Was stronger than I be.

I told him: ''Tis our human fate,
For better or for worse,
That man and maid should love and mate,
And little children nurse.
Of course, if you are less than man
You can't do what we can.

'So many loving maids would wed,
And wondrous mothers be.'
'I'll buy the love I want,' he said,
'No squally brats for me.'
. . . I hope the devil stoketh well
For him a special hell.

when you put your pajamas on
before getting into bed.

Frozen, flaky, fragments
Of forward flashing time
Stellar stars are stupefied
When you beg them to align

For angry angels answer
And angry angels weep
Scribbled constellations
Will sing your soul to sleep

We exist in a world filled with people who beg every day for love.
For connection. For tenderness. For attention.
And yet, try giving it to them.
Try being someone else's design, the one who will give everything to them.
They are like children who wish to eat an entire chocolate cake and regret it halfway through.
They make themselves sick on love.
And we, the ones who have been made to fit the idealistic wish, find that we have been very cruelly misled.
We have been created for a world which does not exist,
And for people who are only capable of receiving the affection we offer
In their dreams.
There are two types of people in the world:
Those who wish for love, and those who are the wish for love.
And neither is ever satisfied,
Because both believe the other is designed for them,
When in reality, they are simply alone.
The lonely ones find the people who will make them lonelier.
The clingy ones find the people who will surely reject them.
The lovers find the people who will abuse their affections.
The dreamers of true love find the people whom they wish could fulfill their wishes,
Not the people who can.
And the people who can find the people who cannot appreciate a dream come true.

We are tragedies, my darlings.
We reject ourselves and one another.
I am aiming to be better, to give what I can. But most of the time?
I just feel like a freak, with my emotions.
Even when they are not directed at you, you feel their threat looming and shy away.
The real reason I am so very easy going?
It is a disguise. An apology to the world for loving it too much.
Not even that- for being ABLE to.
It is restraint based on respect.
Even when I put up the walls of "it's all okay" and "leave if you want",
Somehow they all feel the pressure of the something that is wrong with me.
What is it?
Why do the books all worship love like mine, but the people all fear it?
I watch these people grovel and plead for love,
Love that I can give,
And I sit and hold my tongue, because I know by now.
After all this time,
I finally know that they do not want what they ask for.

They just want to ask for it.

You’ve mirrored me in gypsy eyes,
                                         which never take but borrow

You’ve bathed me in your gypsy eyes,
                                         which are your pools of sorrow

You’ve gazed at me with gypsy eyes,
                                         which never see tomorrow ...