I want your smile. I want your sadness. I want all your Sunday mornings and your late nights. I want your hair in my shower drain, your favorite CD in my DVD player, your phone calls, your quirks, and your sick days.
I want to see how my t-shirt looks loose on you, but perfect in every way. I want your thoughts that you weave while crossing your fingers in one another like my shoe lace. I want your smell to occupy my room and to know how you dance when no one is watching you.
I want your shaky voice to set my heart in motion like a boxer hitting his bag, your touch to change the elevation of single hair I have on my body. I want your face against mine in the morning despite bad breath, your unexplored mind, your stupid excuses, and your toothbrush resting beside mine.
I want your whispers to crawl everywhere while you nibble on my ear, your eye contact, I want to make you coffee just the way you like it, I want to be your pizza delivery guy. I want your hand intertwined in mine, to see your eyebrows reaching new heights while your jaw drops, your warmth, your breath to run all over my face, your hugs.
I want you to fill the remaining side of my bed, your silences, your internet history, your tantrums, and your anger. I want you more than those high rated players for my football game. I want my savings to be spent on you, your different flavors, your head resting on my shoulder, your voice echoing my house.
I want to cook with you, do laundry for you, give you piggy back rides, and face your problems with you. I want to be that person you share your last bite with, that guy who will run around the whole city to get you your favorite ice cream a t3 a.m. I want your twisted past and your impenetrable future.
I want you.