I don’t want red roses from my lover. They will wilt and die by the end of the week and I will throw them away and forget all about them. I want my love to engulf me completely and to make me drown in its pain and pleasure. I want my love to inconvenience me at times so I can realize and cherish the strength of our bonds. I want intellectual stimulation that transcends all boundaries and physical intimacy that sets my senses on fire. I want absences to hurt and meeting that will positively make me glow. I don’t believe that higher powers created someone especially for me. I believe it’s up to me to decide who I want to fall in love with and then give them a piece of my heart laughing and carefree despite the bloodstains on my chest. I want to wake up in the mornings, my feet talgled in theirs. I want to write poetry on their back in the afternoons and talk about astronomybat night. I want a passionate, all-consuming love that will make my toes curl and my head spin. I want my lover to know that I would rist death for their sake that I am willibg to abandon my current life and be a gypsy, to run away forever if it means I can spend eternity by their side. I don’t want red roses. I prefer white but if my lover sends me handwritten love notes I’ll treasure them forever.