a tiny apartment for two, in a big city full of lights and luck. we can share things. pizza. a bed. cuddles. goodnight kisses. i’ll make you tea every evening, and serve you the newspaper every morning. sunday mornings spent in bed are my favorite, pancakes with extra syrup, coffee with extra cream. you hate coffee. i need it. rainy mornings rushing to work, i’ll give you a kiss on the cheek to keep with you through the day. open your lunch box, baby, there’s a surprise inside. a note that’s scribbled in bad handwriting, “i love you, more.” friday nights in, old films and dusty records we pull out of boxes. we can dance around the moonlight to songs of our childhood.
long car rides, shoulder kisses and sweaty palms. waking up the neighbors downstairs. i’ll kick you out on the couch, just to wake you up in the middle of the night. come back to bed. i’ll read you my poems in a sleepy daze. the little things, they’re all i want. with you. only with you.
—  i.c. // a future, please. with you.

I know I’m a good person because I fight with myself. I battle with my dignity, my ego, and my struggles just to give you peace.

I threw my heart and head out the window and have replaced your name and your body with the most vital organ.

Although I haven’t had a proper functioning heart for a while, it’s far too human. It screams, brutalizes me, gives me fears, but it also keeps me dreaming. It's embarrassing to admit it, but part of my lifeline relies on your behavior. I hope you understand this metaphor when you read these childish words.

But I will admit, I dearly wished others would do the same for me. I wish I had a mini me who could love me unconditionally, reassure me and follow me to heaven and hell. 

I guess I’m unlucky.

But at least I honor you.

—  Anonymous

I feel trapped.
I want the touch of your hand.
The soft brush of your fingers on mine.
Not a wild touch.
Not primal.
Not sexual.
A human touch.
Your warm body laying next to me.
No words needed to convey the sense of connectedness.
Just us.
I need the silent reassurance you bring.
The stability that keeps my world from caving in.
The knowledge that someone is there.
Emotionally.
Physically.
There.
I want the lingering looks as I leave the room.
The sly sideways glances when you think I’m not looking.
Everyone deserves that kind of love.
I want you.
I need you.
Even though I’ve never met you, I need you.

I look for you.
Every day.
When I go out at night I search the crowd for your face.
Could this one be him, I think.
Maybe that one?
I look for you when my friends introduce me to people.
In every time I make eye contact with strangers,
sometimes with friends.
I can never find you though.
Will I ever?
That thought scares me.
Both that I will find you, and that I won’t.

“You know that one person you’ll forever have love for—where you move on and plan the rest of your life with someone else, but still think about this one person who becomes a tattoo in your soul?

I can find happiness, but not the same one. That kind of unexplainable happiness never occurs again.”

“There’s different kinds of happiness,” you say. “Everyone that comes in your life brings their own light.

You may not find the same happiness with me as you did with him, but I promise you, I’ll make you happy too.

—  Excerpt from a black leather notebook #2 by Ming D. Liu