What do I want? I'm not sure. It's hard to keep count of the things you want when you're bad at math. I don't know exactly what I expect. From you, from myself, from the world. I just know it's never enough.
It's like we live in the shadows, afraid of the sun. And I do admit I have often found calm and comfort in the dark. But can that be living? Isn't it human to feel, and to feel fully? I don't want half measured glasses of gin, or incomplete moments. It's the little things, we say, with bright smiles.
I want to be able to fall fully and hard. To cry wholeheartedly. To fall down, scrape my knees and keep going. I want my hair to be a mess from long bike rides, and my fingers to smell of cigarettes always one too many.
"Aren't you afraid of getting hurt?"
Of course I am, but god, I'm more afraid of not living.