I want the view. The city lights beneath me, blinking in red and white, to remind me that life still goes on even as we’re unconscious of it.

I want to be in the café with Darren, talking about that which only we could understand about each other.

I want to be looking out the open window of my uncle’s apartment in Hong Kong, to hear the people talking, even through the night. I want to smell the age of the wood, the sterility of the concrete.

I want the strings to be playing just for me. To guide me, through layers of resolution after resolution.

I want to stay on the beachfront. To feel the cool, moist wind blowing through open curtains and doors, completely trusting of the world. To feel the darkness and quiet swallowing me whole.

I want to be rolled up in my sheets with her, pressed together on the couch, naked as we came, as the morning light begins to glow through the blinds.

I want to be downtown in the warmth of summer, with the energy of those around me as if the night would never end.

I want the rituals accorded to those who love and are loved in return.

I want to walk out of the theatre into the deafening night air, my mind racing and humbled from the performance.

I want to ride with John. To speak without thinking. To feel without caring. To confide without worrying.

I want this feeling to last forever.