i shouldn’t be attached to you like this when your investment is not as deep as mine.
i shouldn’t want to hold your hands when they’re busy typing messages to anyone else but me.
i shouldn’t want to weave my fingers through those black locks of hair, or trace the curves of your hairline from your boyish temples down to the nape of your neck.
i shouldn’t want to know the taste of your lips—to know if the bottom one is sweeter from the top one because that’s the one that carries your smile.
i shouldn’t see your long lashes and yearn for butterfly kisses upon my cheeks, my neck, my breasts…
i shouldn’t imagine you as something you are not. or hope for you to change your mind and become enraptured with my being.
i shouldn’t hope for miracles
but i do. i want you, and
i want us.