You are not likely to please me, but I do not recommend you allow that to discourage you. I want you to keep trying. I want you to think about all of the ways that you can make me happy. I am not naturally an unhappy person, but many days go by where I am happy and you are not the cause. I want you to have exclusive rights to my joy, to my pleasure, and my satisfaction.
I want you to write me poems.
I want you to talk about me to your friends. The good stuff, the bad stuff, the stuff I’d murder you into slices for saying to anyone else. I want them to look at me with crude eyes, widened at the very nature of my shames. I want others to look at you in awe for the patience you must possess, and consider the attributes that I must have to make me worth your time.
I want you to never trust me within an inch of your own life. Know that I can end this with a single word, that you would have to pack everything you’ve every brought into your house, and leave it empty so that I may stay there instead of you. I want you to sacrifice everything you’ve ever wanted out of life and take the risks you know that I won’t.
I want you to follow my dreams.
Tell me what you are afraid of. Tell me what I shouldn’t be afraid of. What afterlife do you think we have to look forward to? What reward will be worth all of the pain that we suffer for?
Leave me when I ask you to. I do not need your time with me to be constant. I need you to leave me alone and allow me to leave for days, weeks at a time. If I find someone else, understand and grieve for your loss. If I come back to you, celebrate unto the heavens that you learned the error of my ways and hold me tight so I cannot leave. Let me leave when I want to again.
Frustrate over the inconsistencies. Cry over the failures. Promise that you’ll never do any better than me.
And never believe anything I say to you.
Except this.
And even then.
