I wanted to make you breakfast in the morning. Pancakes, because you like that shit. I would’ve even used thick, white, carby bread, and not that sprouted shit I eat. I wanted to tell you I made you coffee, because I know you think it’s gross and don’t drink it. Then, I wanted to see the face you’d make when I’d hand you a mug of hot chocolate or chocolate milk.
I wanted to bring you Paxti’s on your birthday. Along with a six-pack of IPA, and me in nothing but a trench coat and lingerie underneath. But you said they made you something special at work. I wanted to save it for another day. A Tuesday, a Thursday, the next day. Any day really, but I didn’t think you would appreciate it.
I wanted to take you to Napa – not even as a date. Just as a friend. A friend with a handsome face, that hates even more things than I do. A friend I can make fun of all the real couples with. A friend with comfy arms, and broad shoulders I could rest my drunk head on during the limo ride home.
I wanted to fuck you anytime and anywhere. At the museum. At the game. In your car in front of your house, because we couldn’t wait to get inside. Then inside again. I wanted you to tie me up, and drive me crazy like you used to. But then you stopped and I started. I thought you were bored. I just wanted some spontaneity. I just wanted to make you feel good.
I wanted to take pictures. And actually post them. I wanted to hold your hand, I never even tried. I wanted to dance with you that night, and put my hands on your waist. Buy you a shot, and sing off key. I wanted to playfully grab your dick in the corner and hold hands in the dark. I wanted you to have fun with me, AND your friends. I wanted you to see what they saw in me.
I wanted to tell you that I missed you. I wanted to ask how you were feeling. I wanted to ask about your mom, your brother – even your father. I wanted to know what made you happy, horny, sad, and even angry. I wanted to know you. I wanted you to know me too.
Bust most of all, I wanted YOU.