Want

I want to keep the world in my back pocket. Paris, France smoldering in the palm of my hand.

I want your hair. Your looks. I want your easy beauty and grace. The way you laugh and look up through your lashes. I want that.

I want long nights with full moons and somebody to run their fingers through my hair. I want somebody to tell me I’m beautiful. I want someone to say my name and taste it. Someone to kiss me goodnight. Someone to call me home. Someone to phone in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.

All I really want is someone to destroy me.

I want your diplomacy. Your divinity and taste for what’s good and gracious. I want your darkness; your sexuality. Your being. I want your essence, I want to inhale it. Breathe it in. Become it. I want your power to inspire and dissolve. I want it all.

I just want someone to remember my name and the curves of my hips. I just want somebody to hold me during the night and whisper nonsense sayings into my ear.

I want mystery. Serenity. Peace of mind. I want someone to look at me and see something more than just skin and bones. I want someone to dig into me and sift through all my blood and bad judgments. I want someone to look behind my subtle apathy. Rip me open. Tear me to pieces and look inside.

I just want somebody to find my heart, is all.