When my mum moved out of home, she got herself a Rough Collie she named Jessica Mary Winch (Winch was her maiden name). Recently I have been pining for a Rough Collie, but I don’t know if I could handle a big dog or such a full-coated dog.
I want to be five years old again, running through sprinklers in my front yard, swimming in inflatable pools, sprinting barefoot down the street to catch the ice cream truck.
I want to be young and alive again, singing songs that are screaming from my car radio until my voice goes out, drinking five cups of hot chocolate with a group of friends, never wanting the night to end, dancing, always dancing.
I want to grow up with you. You see, when you love someone, you want to trade in all of your old memories for new ones with them, and my mind is racing thinking of how life would have turned out differently had you been my date to the prom, rather than the boy who stood me up. and I am pulling my hair out imagining you in that movie theatre, you at the beach, you with me, instead of him.
I want to grow old with you the way two peaches will bruise and age more quickly when they are sitting next to each other, rather than apart. I want my hair to fall out when yours does and for people to stare at us when we hold hands, because they’ve never seen a love so passionate.
I want so much of you, but here I am wondering when I will be able to run my fingers through your hair, when I will be able to kiss your forehead, take you on a tour to every place I fell in and out of love, bring you everywhere I lost myself and cry as you find the pieces of me so easily hidden in the tall grass, in the shards of an old park bench, in the seats at taco bell, in his hands, in my dreams buried in my backyard. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want it all. I want it all with you.