I don’t want your 21st century notions of love.
I don’t want us to be an example of this agenda or that agenda. We are not a label.
I don’t want the pointless tragedy of hearts too cowardly to collide.
I don’t want me first or for your own good.
I don’t want your infantile fear of commitment.
I don’t want your social media love-affair-for-likes shitshow.
I don’t want your selfish relationship advice; love isn’t practical.
I don’t want your what’s trending judgement on my feelings for you.
I don’t want your love doled out, realistically defined, and one foot out.
I don’t want your passionless distillation of fireworks into post-it notes.
I don’t want you to tell me I’m important, I want you to show me I’m important.
I don’t want games.
I don’t want excuses.
What do I want?
I want you to get over yourself and jump with me.
I want your love like a raging fire and don’t you tell me that doesn’t exist because you’re too self-involved to let me show you.
I want to lose myself in you while you lose yourself in me and trust that we’ll lead each other back out.
I want to need you sometimes and know you need me sometimes without the fucking codependent rhetoric.
I want to tell you that you are beautiful and know you trust me enough to understand that I’m not just talking about your face.
I want to call you ‘my love’ without initiating a rhetoric on possessiveness.
I want to be with you without consulting The 2017 Guide to Socially Acceptable Relationships.
I want to meet your mother.
I want to be able to tell you that, yes, I’d like to have kids without you assuming I mean right here, right now, no discussion.
I want to be honest with you without you punishing me for it.
I want to hold an old boombox over my head playing a love song for you while you smile at me in away that says fuck what anyone else thinks.
I want storybook love, and I can give that to you, but I won’t lie, there will be less-than-storybook parts… I want those with you, too.
I want to take you to the most beautiful places in the world and make love without worry or care, just the indulgent braid of our bodies.
I want to see penguins in Antarctica with you.
I want to cook for you.
I want to fold laundry with you.
I want you to eat off of my plate.
I want to smell you on my clothes.
I want to figure out, together, the less romantic aspects of being together.
I want you to be brave, and when you’re not, I want you to have faith in me.
I want you to trust me.
I want you to believe in me.
I don’t need you to be perfect, but I am worth more than just whatever you have leftover.