Too Much To Ask

I don’t want to have sex with you.

I don’t want to make out with you.

I don’t even want to kiss your lips.

I want to kiss your cheek.

I want you to kiss my cheek.

I want to hold your hand.

I want to bury myself in your hugs.

I want to buy my first apartment with you.

I want you to buy me a book with your first salary, so that you can lay your head on my lap and I can read it to you, while we sip on a bottle of wine I bought us with my first salary.

I want to raise a dog with you.

I want to be the first person to wish you on your birthday, because you know how much that would mean to me.

I want to able to take a bullet for you.

I want to know that you trust me with your life.

I want to be the first person you think of when you’re having a bad day, and need a drink to forget it all.

I want to be the woman to threaten your girlfriend.

I want to be the best woman at your wedding, to talk you out of eloping.

I want to be the godmother to your child.

I don’t want to be jealous of her.

I don’t want to be her.

She can have your heart, body and mind.

All I want is your soul.

But I know that’s too much to ask.

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