I wonder if you are ever amazed that I am yours. I wonder if you stop to think about how you get to touch me at night, when the lights are off, and the rest of the city is asleep. I wonder if you ever stop, in the middle of the day, and imagine my lips on yours, your fingers on my neck, my hair in your teeth.  I wonder if you are ever awed that out of all the people wiping their feet at my door, I chose to let you come inside.

That is the kind of way I need to be loved—the way someone might stare slack jawed at the sun setting. I want to be a pink and blue and red and orange sky at 5:30 pm in January that makes you pull over the car and get out just so you can make sure what you are seeing is real.

I don’t think love should be frantic and hard. I think it should be gentle and exciting and the kind of thing that you keep running your hands over because you can’t believe it is everything you thought you’d never get.  

A neglected heart eventually turns to seed and scatters away from you in the wind, looking for a new place to plant roots, and what I am trying to say is that I am parched, and the breeze is picking up, and I heard stories that somewhere in the east it is raining so much that there aren’t enough hearts to soak it up.

I would like to stay.
I would like to stay.
I would like to stay and wait for you to love me the way I deserve, but at some point you can only fight so hard against the wind—eventually it breaks you and when that happens there won’t be anything either of us can do but stand on the edge of the road and watch it blow us apart.