You asked me what I want. I didn’t respond, and instead said, “I don’t know.” Because what I want is something you can’t give me, or rather it’s something I can’t take from you.
I want to fall in love.
I want to fall head over heels, fall so passionately and deeply in love that I don’t know what’s happening. I want to be smitten in love, to feel that a train hit me, and for better or worse, I am in for the ride. The exhilaration of the ride, the excitement, the passion. I want all of that, but not just the love and passion. I want to feel; I want the waves of emotion to flow through me, from the soft lapping of waves to the beasts of tides rising high above the horizon. I want the tornado of anger when you piss me off. The quiet rising tides of jealousy. The dark empty pit of sadness. The hopelessness when I know nothing can be done to salvage situations. I understand that all these emotions are with the package; I cannot solely feel smitten in love, passionate and gooey eyed.
I accept all the other raging emotions that come with it, because if I can trade all of those emotions, even for a moment, just to feel the rawness of love, I would do it.
You asked me what I want. I have a death wish, a death wish to be heartbroken. Because if a love is so great that it makes me feel everything and brings out the rawness of emotions, there is no way that anyone can withstand it… can they?
Maybe only through a heartbreak will I know great love; maybe experiencing a great love means that I will eventually have to let go of that great love, which will bring me a heartbreak. Maybe we are all destined to experience great love; a love that is not ours to keep. Or maybe I’m a pessimist.
But I’m in it for the train ride.
I want to be in love. I want to feel my heart beat rising as you step in and hold me close. I want to sit and stare into your eyes, your eyes telling me everything I need to know. I want to watch the stars while you hold my hand, making up stupid stories about the stars and constellations. I want to listen to you tell me that you love me & that I am special, yet knowing I will question myself how many times you have said that to others.
I want to go on picnics with you. To travel & explore new lands. To go grocery shopping at 3AM in the morning and make pancakes at 10PM, just because we want to. I want to surprise you with birthday cakes, and random presents just because I found something that I know you would love. I want to buy you takeout without needing to ask you what you want, because I know your order. I want to dress up and go to concerts & operas with you. I want to laze in your T-shirt and sweats on Sunday mornings, making coffee and then going straight back to bed afterwards. I want to be cuddled and kissed and fondled with. I want to have random conversations for hours, and afterwards having no clue what we talked about, just knowing that it was a good time.
I want to be in love.
Maybe it’ll be a love so great that my heart cannot contain it. Maybe it’ll be a love so great that Nothing can contain it & Nothing can stand it. So maybe it will only be a great love in one chapter of my life; but maybe that chapter will be the best chapter ever.
Perhaps that would be better, to have something temporarily so you learn how to treasure it. I don’t know. I accept that maybe this great love is perhaps not for me to have; perhaps just for me to experience, if I ever even manage to find a love so great.
But I believe that it does exist, I do.
It’s funny, because I think you can be my great love. Ironic though, because it feels that it could be great, yet it’s only ever real when it’s shadowed from the world, when we are enclosed in our own little bubble. But who is to judge that, to say it’s not real? All I know is that it feels real in our little bubble, and maybe that’s enough, just for now.
Knowing that I can have that in a little bubble makes me question what it will feel like if it was not hidden in a bubble. Perhaps it’s a love so great that nothing can contain it; perhaps that is why we stop ourselves from feeling, from unleashing the powers that it can yield on us, on those around us.
Perhaps it’s a love so great that it’s only supposed to be felt halfway so we don’t become scarred for life; perhaps it’s a love so great that nothing can contain it, not meant to be fully felt because we would not be able to recuperate if the impact was fully unleashed. Funny, though. Since when was I afraid of scars?