wanting

i want a burly man to squeeze me tight every time we meet. i want a man to swim in a waterfall with, hike the grand canyon with, go skydiving with. i want a dog dad — a mastiff — i want to sit outside under the stars, the three of us, on a warm summer night.

but what if that man hurts me? what if he hits me too hard with his words and his fists? what if he takes my body like pills; twice a day and without any thought of the aftershocks?

i want a guy who reads. i want a guy who’s at his desk into the night, his keys clicking rhythmically — he’s a writer with beautiful, eloquent thoughts — until he joins me in bed with a kiss. i want his hand to hold as we walk through galleries and museums, his camera snapping elegant shots of our love for art.

but what if that guy forgets me? what if i’m only an afterthought, waiting for the avalanche to crush me. what if my sweet bedtime kiss never comes? what if my pages are too few; a flimsy disposable paperback?

i want a lover to treat me like a queen; i want to be the topic of his conversation. i want a guy to serenade me and to let me rest my head on his lap as he plays. i want a guy to share a picnic with while we listen to the chatter of crickets.

but what if that guy settles? what if he’s blind to the other, better things? what if he can’t fight back?

i want to be alone, free to blaze my own trail. i want to stay up late and wake up early; i want to sleep in, waking up with the sun. i want to take long showers, to fill the whole closet, and to choose what I want for dinner.

but what if that girl gets boring? what if she’s missing the meaning? what if only crying will quiet the voices of fear and doubt?

i have no idea what i want.

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