They say time heals wounds. I’m still waiting for the time that hearing your voice won’t make me feel like there’s an elephant in my throat. I’m still waiting for the time that seeing your face won’t make my heart scream for you, ripping its own seams in the process. I’m still waiting for the time when passing you by won’t make me weak at the knees, won’t make my spine shiver and my lungs suffocate.

They say time heals wounds. How will my wounds heal when the knife is still in my back, when the bullets are still in my chest? How will my wounds heal when whenever I remember to live, your memory pours salt on my cuts? How will my wounds heal when you haven’t even returned what’s left of my heart yet?

They say time heals wounds. Does that mean that I won’t see your face whenever I close my eyes? Does that mean that I won’t find you in every song I listen to? Does that mean I’ll stop hugging myself to sleep at night, feeling homesick for you? Does that mean I’ll be able to love again? and how will I ever love again, when I often find my soul wandering in the places our love was born, searching for you?

I want him to have a beard.
I want him to read.
I want him to feel the weight of words on his chest.
I want him to always feel his heart skip a beat when I tell him I love him.
I want him to know the value of ‘I love you’.
I want him to be educated.
I want him to look through things.
I want him to overlook superficials.
I want him to be tall.
I want him to be sportive.
I want him to be well built.
I want him to take care of himself,
I want him to take care of me too.
I want him to worthy his family.
I want him to put God first.
I want him to have ambitions.
I want him to feel comfortable with me through silences.
I want him to be home, my home.
I want him to have black hair.
I want him to be social.
I want him to be proud of me.
I want him to have brown eyes.
I want him to make me believe in forever.
I want him to appreciate the little stuff.
I want him to make me feel safe.
I want him to give up his soul to singers singing their sorrow.
I want him to value the little things.
I want him to wear tuxedos.
I want him to wear dress shirts and ties.
I want him to find comfort in pain.
I want him to despise smoking.
I want him to see that enjoying your life is beyond partying and getting drunk.
I want him to keep his promises.
I want him to see women as equal to men as 1 is equal to 1.
I want him to like kids.
I want him to be committed.
I want him to understand the emptiness I feel inside,
I want him to fill it.
I want him to be brave.
I want him to be protective.
I want him to not be ashamed to cry.
I want him to support me.
I want him to get along with the people I love.
I want him to be the missing piece that completes my puzzle.
I want him to be my source of peace.
I want him to hug me tight, and never let go.
I want him to want me.

Or maybe I don’t want any of those things, maybe I just want him to fall for me and catch me as I fall for him too.