Want.
The Past.
I remember the days, so long ago when every weekend I would party with people whose last names never existed, in a house that smelled of old socks and after shave. I would always ask him if he wanted to join us, hoping I could get him drunk and tell him that I was crazy about him praying he would reply that all he wanted was me morning, noon and night and we should run away together. Then the next morning we could remember but write it all off as a slip of the tongue. It never happened like that.