Watching you sleep, as I am doing now, is my favorite moment between us. Your face is so still and almost malleable. In this state, you can be anything I want you to be.

Most women want to change something about their partners. That’s so well known its become a cliche in comedy. Many of my friends wish their boyfriends were smarter, funnier, richer, more generous (in and out of bed), and of course, better looking. I never thought those things of you, not once.

It doesn’t matter to me if you have money or not, if you went to college or are fast witted, and you are always more then competent in bed. Your looks don’t matter to me, you are always most handsome when you make me feel loved, so my attraction to you is mostly psychological anyway.

What I’ve always wanted is a romantic story. Most little girls want a fairy tale prince I think, but I want a touching story that is far more romantic. I want to hold you in my arms not knowing what will come in the next moment. I want to carry you with me in my heart and remember you when its raining, or when its sunny, or whatever weather it was when we were last whole and happy. I want you to die.

I want to watch you fade away of a terminal disease while I comfort and support and love you. I want our love to be so deeply rooter in this sorrow that I’ll never be able to get over it and your memory will never die. I don’t want memories of falling out of love or slipping away, I want your life passing through my fingers like sand as I grasp desperately at them.

When I see you eating well or working out, I think of this. It’s a daily reminder of what I wont have when you live life like a vivacious and healthy young man. I’ll never be able to love you like I want to, and so sometimes I think I can’t love you as fully as I could.