I want to sleep next to someone. So I can prop my head up by fashioning a cradle out of my hand, with my arm bent at 45 degrees, and stare at them unblinkingly. Just gaze at the contours of his or her face and watch their appearance morph as the rays of rising sunlight slowly creep up and accentuate different features. Sometimes, though, I want them to wake up with a startle to find me gazing at them intently. I want to see the disconcertment flicker across your face and watch it ebb into an uncertain warm smile.
I’d like to walk down a busy street alongside someone, perhaps you. I want our banter to assume a comfortable cadence that passes a baton from my vocal cords to theirs with a slight bounce and a pep, but maintain a tempo fit for a Sunday afternoon stroll. I want our knuckles to brush just lightly - not enough for them to pull theirs away but just enough for me to feel a small zap of static from stray knuckle hairs. I can’t be sure, but they’d likely stop in a particularly reflective retail window and make a big fuss about their hair; how it doesn’t fall right, how it never falls right. I’d take my hand and muss it gently, just lightly enough for you to laugh and refrain from readjusting it again in the next window.
I think about what it would be like to sit in a mostly empty room or on opposite ends of a long corridor, with someone - probably not you, but still, perhaps you - as far away from me as humanly possible while still sharing the same space. I’d like for us to look up simultaneously and share a coerced soft-smile and retire to our own separate activities. They’d do that thing where they lick their fingers before turning a page, so I’d vow to read every interesting book before they had the chance to. Maybe they’d nudge their hip against the chair I’m settled into on the way to the kitchen and return with two cups of warm tea. Even though I hate most teas I’ll wrinkle my nose while their back is turned during their return trip back to a distant comfy chair, and drink it anyway because at least someone’s here. At least you’re here.