I want you to encourage my crazy. Stand by my side as I shout my nonsense from the rooftops. I want us to vibe off of each other, dream big together, sit on the couch and work together. Yes, you can watch the news. In fact, let’s both watch the news and compare our insights. I want to debate about what is wrong and right in the world. See eye to eye on this country’s madness and agree to disagree on our point of views. Then we can cuddle or fuck around afterwards. I want our communication to be seamless. You, learning that I will not speak till calm. Me, learning to sit tight until you’ve gotten your words in too. That’s my kind of love.
I want to figure you out. Let me learn what makes your eyes, mind, and heart sparkle. Memorize your facial expressions. Know what you’re thinking from the curve of your lips to the arch of your eyebrows. It’ll be a mission to master what makes you tick, what arouses you and your senses, and to hone the skill of calming you down? I’ll do it. I just want to truly know you. That’s my kind of love.
I want to be understood. Read me like a book. Maybe not immediately, but when you get there, I want you to love the pages of my crazy, sexy, cool. I want you to study them. Connect the dots and admire the flaws. Don’t correct them just yet. Let them simmer for awhile, and leave your notes written on the side. Highlight my happiness. Underline my insecurities. Make these pages your bed time reading. Leave your fingerprints all over these pages. Know my pages by heart. And then when you’re ready, I invite you to write a few of your own. That’s my kind of love.
I want that, “Do you need to buy that Yetti? Get some self-control.” I want that random “I love you” while we sit across from each other at breakfast. Hit me with the, “Babe, this was a good read, I think you’ll appreciate it,” or the “I’ll proofread it for you, just get it done.” Yes, sir. I want that “Baby, you’ve got this,” after I complain about the hard times, followed by that, “Now stop being weak and get to work.” You know that, “You don’t understand this topic? Want me to explain it to you?” Give me all of that and more. That’s my kind of love.
I want to lounge around with you on a Saturday. I’d love to watch you be you. I want to shower and then get back into bed to watch you watch ESPN. I want to brainstorm with you, be knees deep in the paperwork with you, because your dreams and goals are that important to me. I want to cook for you, make your plate, and then enjoy watching you eat my food. Hell, I want to cuddle you, watch you sleep, do your laundry in your tee and boxers. Fuck that fake angry just to be angry mainstream feminism, I want to cater to you. That’s my kind of love.
I want a simple love, yet complex with passion. An unordinary love, yet people get it when they see us. A nothing too flashy kind of love, but behind closed doors? Straight fireworks. I want an always have butterflies when we kiss kind of love, keep me flying high. A need to always connect with each other love, even with we’re annoyed and stubborn. We deserve that anything is possible with you by my side type of love. Gosh is that love beautiful. But most of all, I want all you can offer, love. Don’t hold back. That’s my kind of love.