I want our love to be the kind that you wear on your skin; I want it to be visible in the blush of your cheek, I want it to be felt in the beat of your heart. I want to see it tangled within your hair, roped between your palms and your words, always sinking, sinking, sinking deeper and deeper into you. I want our love to be unafraid of the depths, unafraid of the intensity of feeling that exists between two people who are filled with curiosity and restlessness when it comes to each other.
I want our love to be the kind that you cannot shrug from your skin, the kind that you cannot wash out of your clothes. I want our love to be the kind that lurks in every hope and dream, the kind that cannot be swept under a rug or neglected. I want our love to demand more from us.
But most of all, I want our love to demand honesty. I want our love to respect us, to respect the beauty of what we create together. And though I want our love to be a fighter, the kind that pushes and battles and draws every weapon it has just to stay in the war against goodbyes, I want our love to know when to walk away. When to lay down its arms. When to let go.
And if that happens, I want our love to be the kind of love that stains us. I want it to exist within music, and within rainy days. I want it to be the lump in your throat, the bumps on your skin when the air smells familiar. I want it to surge within you whenever you travel to all the places we spoke about, whenever you accomplish everything I always knew you would. I just want our love to have had purpose, to have had soul. I want our love to have counted, to have made a difference in your life, to have stood for something spectacular.
I want our love to have mattered; to have meant something.