Will you?

Will you dream aimlessly with me?

Of sailing around the world to collect water from every sea. Do you think they take on different colors? We’ll never know because we’re not fucking rich or sailors or sea people for that matter, but we’ll sit on the couch for hours googling catamaran prices and arguing about which navigation path to take until our lips find each other and you’re tracing routes from my chest to my navel. No arguing there.

Will you make a detailed excel sheet for a trip we’ll never take?

Maybe for a plan to cross half the world by train even though trains cost more than flights do for some reason, and trains cross countries where we can’t hold hands, but trains also ride past elephants and frozen lakes and orange groves and small towns with no names and all the wondrous things we share this world with. Will  you let dreaming together be enough?

Will you get to know the whole of me?

My writing and my anxiety, my messy past and the size of my dreams, my shortcomings and my failures and all the innumerable contradictions I hold. The way I can be both a bitch and a princess at the same time. The way I want to be hugged and claimed in public but also retain the freedom I took so long to own. The times my brain jumps from telling you about my Copenhagen trip to should we get pizza for dinner (always) to convincing you we should adopt two puppies and name one belly and the other button, and then the times I make us late to your grandma’s wake because I can’t detach my focus from whatever grabbed it hours ago, sitting on our couch until the sun sets and the room turns dark and my bladder hurts and I’m still not dressed.

Will you memorize every single crevice of my body?

The tiny scar between my breasts that I don’t know how I got, the heart shaped freckle above my eyebrow, the way tickles make my clit quiver and the why I can’t come with someone else present. How much I crave your touch during summertime and the nights I just want to be spooned in silence, kisses sprinkling my shoulders and strokes running down my back.

Will you watch my bare soul and adore me for it?

Will you revel in every inch of the clashing oversaturated color gradient map that makes me me, not just the cool vintage looking 5 by 6 cm polaroid version of it? Will you strip your heart naked in front of mine until I can see and graze each vessel, each scar, each scorch mark left before me, before us? Will you forgive me for adding my own? Will you let me unravel the threads of pretty daisies you embroidered over the worst parts? Will you let me dig my fingers deep into them so I can try and fail to heal them but at least come back with a map of how and why you feel?

Will you fall madly, deeply, freely with me?

No hold backs, no push backs, no take backs?

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