I don’t want someone to understand me, I don’t want someone to think about me, I don’t want someone to miss me when I’m away.

I want you.
All of you, all the time. I want every single piece of your being to belong to me, from the freckles on your back to the anxious thoughts that frequent your mind. I want you to feel safe and warm and loved and alive and I want to be your home and I want you to fucking need me in the same way that I need you.

But even more than that, I want to be yours. I want to be the open book on the table by your bed or your favorite t-shirt hanging around in the closet or whatever you need me to be.