I wasn’t put on this earth to love you, but I want to
I am tilting; head back to the stars, already dead, screaming:
I want to, I want to, I want to!
and my head turns to my heart and says:
'please stop, you’re scaring me!'
and my heart turns back to my head and says:
'scared? you should be, but it will be good, so good, so ******* worth everything'.

I wasn’t constructed with a purpose,
I was born human and all I was made for is this:
to live, to die, to briefly exist.
That's all there is. This is it.
But there you are, something more,
vaguely magnificent in a way humans haven't made words for
and I want it, I want it, I want it.

I wasn’t made with any know how;
I'm not even a bit decent at being a person
and I have only grown to know who that person is, not how to be it
not properly, not today with the way the world is
but I want, and I want, and I want:

to go to the beach when it rains
and to write a thousand confession letters
and to sit in the quiet with your hand around my ankle
and to dance around a living room to a song I showed you
and to cry over things I could never explain
and to be in the same place as you, at a different time
and to be in the same place as you, nearly all the time
and to know it wasn’t fate but that’s okay
and to not be afraid
and to lean into you
and to love, afraid or not
and to thank all the dead stars, and possible gods and half truths for making me human at the same time as you
and you
and you
and you
and you
and you