This is what I want.
I want you here.
We would sit on my couch, an open bottle of red wine split between us.
I would be too nervous to eat.
You would play with the strand of hair that (thankfully) kept falling into my eyes.
My outfit would be planned out several days in advance, but would not look as though I tried to be fashionable or sexy or slender – I just happened to look that way.
The music would be an amalgamation of soulful tunes featuring the best of Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, and Etta James.
We would laugh and your eyes would reflect the licking flames of candlelight.
I would want us to talk – an easy conversation that is both intimate and honest.
And I would want to ask a question.
And I would want you to answer.
And I would want you to ask me the same, only the music would change and “Unchained Melody” would begin to play.
I would stop and listen and you would wonder what had gotten into me and I would stand and hold out my hand for you to join me.
Dance with me.
You would reply by standing and sliding your hand into mine.
I want you, then, to put your arm around my waist and pull me closely to you. I want to slide my left hand from your bicep to your shoulder and nestle my fingers at the base of your skull where your finely cropped hair begins.
I want you to move so slowly, as if we weren’t really dancing, just floating.
I want to look directly into your eyes, not bashfully away.
I want to tell you that none of it matters. Not the age. Not the distance. Not the kids. Not any of it.
I want to tell you all of this without ever saying word.
I want to look in your eyes.
I want to dance with you.
I want “Unchained Melody” to play in the background.
And I want all of this because I want you.