This Is How I Want To Be Loved One Day

I want to be loved like this: With raw abundance and a great first kiss.

I want to be held and told soft jokes, and in the morning I want to be grabbed and groped, in full control of my day and my dreams, knowing that I am enough, that my soul overflows.

I want to be sought like art, someone’s awe-inspiring masterpiece, a favorite thing, and I want days like gallery openings and nights captured in crooked frames on walls too tall to scale with views too bold to tame, and I want your jaw to drop when you think about me. I want to gobsmack you with how sensational I am.

I want your favorite part of me to be when I’m comfortably being me, when I’m proudly myself, when I’m audaciously authentic, openly and vulnerably declaring I am scared, hurt, weak or worse, and when I’ve sunk to rock bottom with legs too tired to stand, everywhere I look I want to see your hand. I want to be helped up and held up, but not too much. Be my safety net. Give me space to fall and fail. Support me without supporting me, yet let me know you’re always there.

I want fingertips that glance my skin like warm whispers sent from your lips of hopes from you and dreams come true, fantasy come to life with fiction turned non, and I want to be turned on by thoughts of you and us and what comes next. I hunt for hallelujah moments and yearn for you and me epiphanies. Honor me. Humble me. Humor me. Let’s love fun and free.

Let’s have ‘mind-blowing, soul-shaking, toe-curling, giggle-inducing, don’t stop, won’t stop, gawk at galaxies inside our eyes and bite my lip as you devour my thighs’ fuck me senseless kind of sex. Loudly. Often.

Help me understand myself. Ask the tough questions and demand honest answers. See through my bullshit and call me out on it. Loudly. Often.

Redecorate my life with me. Raid the cluttered rooms of my mind and dust the dreams we find under heavy piles of anxiety, wasted time and useless worn-out excuses. Let’s spruce us up, infuse something special into the everyday mundane plain Jane kind of life we so desperately want to avoid. Let’s add sparkles to stares and glitter to groans, let’s make moans like miracles and find God when our eyes talk.

I want to be loved freely, openly, with fields of feelings to frolic in and safe places to stay when I need to leave, to breathe, to get away from us and them and this and that and when it’s all said and done and the darkness is gone, look in my eyes and let me know you’re still here, that you’re proud of me, that you won’t go away when I need you most, that I can count on you, authentically and honestly.

I want stares like stargazing and heat like comet tails on winter nights when we’re cold but warm and everything feels so right we think there’s something wrong with every moment we’ve lived before and every song we’ve never heard and I want the dim stars in dark skies to match the calm stares in your eyes when you look at me, speechless and hopeful, and I want to know there and then, now and again, I want to truly know what it means to feel alive.

Give me truth or give me death. I simply want to be loved like that.