This night has opened my eyes.

Something inside me wants to show up at your front door with daffodils and rid myself of this incarnation. Shatter me. I really don't want to breathe this secret anymore. I want to forget you, but at the same time, something inside me wants to wait all those years for you to shake the dust off your feet, to see you live.

I could bike to your house right now and make love to you. I could meet you in India in ten years and make you want me. I could write the story of our make believe lives and leave it on your doorstep. You could tell me every word in it that sounds sour. Every sentence that tastes contrived. Let's throw cupcakes at passersby. Pop fireworks and explode things. Dress up in vintage or costumes for no occasion. Record our ideas on a tape recorder. Make our apocalypse evacuation plans correlate. Drive until we hit the ocean. I wish I weren't so awkward in my ideas of perfection.

All I want to do is ride elevators with you and hold your hand and feel your hair. Wake up in your bed and read science fiction. Watch movies all day. See you live your life, but with me in it. And we'd make movies together. And we'd make music together. And we'd finally be a little bit fuller, a little more whole. And we'd eat lots of edamame and hummus.

Contact me if this sounds good to you. Anyone.