I want romance, badly. Love like tendrils folding over the curvature of a home, hot sparks of salt on stars and sounds of the richness of summer falling on frozen bits of light and day. I want that holding firmness of a hand on my back that carries me through the wind and I want to know with violent certainty that I am loved to completion. I want that laughing windsome, careless, windy dance that follows you up the shore and dances inside the folds of your dress. I want youth. Stretched out upon the flaps of wings, just carrying me, just carrying me through the curving days of this life. Through the sprawling territory of ages and years coming towards me like scars. I want to be known and I want to know that endless, unwavering mystery that spins around inside of a love still beating with a bright, red heart. Just pounding like ash and rain. Just pounding with that still, strong sound of a name. Just pounding ancient youth forever, through the strains and strings and curtains of a life still open. Always open, always reaching, always able to be reborn. I want the OK to start over. To be a square one and to know how to stay clean. How to keep something beautiful in my own two hands. How to not drop something fragile and whole. I want to learn how to really, really meet someone eye to eye. And to hold their gaze for long enough. To hold their gaze through the endless days that stretch onwards and outwards. I want to learn how to be that person that can make that life worth living. I want to be given the opportunity to hold steady, fast, and true. To forward and closer and deeper and to hold another’s heart just so – not too tight, not too loose, not too bright, not too bold. Just right. Just enough to keep that heart still pounding. To let it pound, to feel it pound, to hold that endless pounding that cannot be stopped. I want to live with a love still living. Still learning. Still burning and yearning. And pounding.