Oh to have a writer fall in love with me so they could write poems about me, romanticise my imperfections, fill drafts upon drafts with affection, and call them fictional bullshit, like I do
It must be wonderful. And beautiful, truly breathtaking. To live in a cottage somewhere, on a beach or maybe the hills, anywhere with an open, clean sky. A cat curled up in my lap, or perhaps a dog that rests it’s chin on my foot. I have walls and walls of mounted books and a rickety ladder to reach them. And someone to hold that rickety ladder steady, so I don’t fall and break my neck. To have a person of my own, a lover, who brings me warm milk when I’m too immersed in a book. Someone I can pour all my love onto, rain it upon him, engulf him, because that’s what i believe i am made to do. I am made to love. To be loved. i have so much of it, in excess really, it’s too much, pouring out and out of my being for someone i haven’t even met yet. i exist to spread love, and experience love, dive in it, submerge in it, drown in it, and when i come up for air i breathe love and exhale love and inhale love. That’s what my existence revolves around, that’s what humanity revolves around, and i want quiet hugs and someone i can loop my arm with and someone who will kiss the top of my head and make me fall asleep when i write into the crack of morning. At dusk when we get off work, we take a detour in the little car that we own and for reasons unknown end up somehwere on a rooftop and it’s perfect because he has a guitar or a ukelele or a goddamn french horn because i really wouldn’t care because all music is music and all music is feelings and all music for us would just be love. And maybe I’d start humming in the awful way i do, and it’s not perfect, not his notes and certainly not mine, but it is what it is, and what it is: is love. i want steamy coffees that are too bitter to drink and chocolate cakes that have spoonfuls missing from the sides, a messy kitchen countertop covered in flour which i joke to be cocaine and someone laughs and flicks me on the forehead and we go sleep under the same covers, a cat purring at my feet or perhaps a dog at the foot of the bed waiting for attention. It’s all love, and that’s what I’m born to do and feel and give and take.
It’s all love and it’s all that is worth in this world, in this life, in this heart. It is all that the universe has to offer, take it.
