I've always wanted to prostrate flat against the road, and feel the freedom of the thought of the pain I'll be inflicted with when for example, a double-decked bus runs over me. I've always wanted to brace myeslf against the wind on a speeding pink convertible, screaming at the top of my lungs; a feel-good stunt. I've always wanted to sustain five drops of rain on my thumb without it having to yield to gravity. I've constantly harboured thoughts of me posing off as someone I presume is happy, perhaps someone like Paris Hilton (feel beautiful, is beautiful, looks happy, probably because she never ponders hard enough to get upset) or the late Pope John Paul II. I've forever longed for someone to stick around me, to worship my love and my body, to love and to hold, death not acting as a membrane, serving as an excuse for people to stop loving after a lifetime.

I've always wanted to make love to you in the dark, kissing your tender sensitivity, watching you crave for me as I whisper sweet-nothings.