Just so you know, I am a girl.
I want sex. I want to feel love again. I want to feel again. I want to have a life that is everything.
I want to know where it is that I am going and if I really want to be there. I want to know if it really is the journey and not the destination that is the most important. I want to know why. I want to travel and see a world that exists outside of my experience and my own mind. I want experience.
I want physical contact with someone who makes me happy. I want the people I surround myself with to know what makes me tick. I want to know if I’m trying too hard or not enough.
I want a one-bedroom apartment with a balcony that is just big enough to hold a window box garden, a book and me on an early Sunday morning. I want bookshelves that reach so high that I need a ladder just to get at my favorite books. I want to read until my eyes lose their sight.
I want to feel.
I want to decorate my skin with ink. I want to change my body to fit my perfect ideal and not that of anyone else.
I want to know what my ideal is. I want to talk with someone who listens as well as they speak.
I want to have a crush.
The girl with wants too big for her to understand
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