I Don’t Want You

I don’t want you to lose any weight. I don’t want you to waste your time thinking you need to lose weight. I don’t want you to think other people think you need to lose weight. I also don’t want you to gain any weight—so put those protein drinks away. I don’t want you to weigh any less or any more than you do at this moment, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to cut your hair. I don’t want you to grow it out. I don’t want you to perm it or shave it or have it relaxed. I don’t want you to braid it or dye it or straighten it or dry it. I don’t even want you to let me run my fingers through it, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to watch less TV, or more TV, or to read that book that I told you I liked, or to let me borrow that book that you told me you liked. I don’t want you to see that movie I really want to see with me. I don’t even want you to sit next to me in the theater and hold my hand. I don’t want you to do anything with me at all, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to work harder, or to work less, or to care more or less about your work. I don’t want you to work-from-home. I don’t want you to work up the nerve to ask for that big promotion. I don’t want you to overachieve, or to underachieve, or to achieve anything at all, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to kiss me differently. I don’t want you to always kiss me the same way. I don’t want you to stop kissing me. I don’t want you to stop kissing me. I don’t want you to stop kissing me, ever.

I don’t want you to point out that I broke the format in that last paragraph. I don’t want you to be more organized. I don’t want you to be less punctual. I don’t want you to buy renters insurance even though it’s a really good thing for people in apartments to have in case they are burglarized. I don’t want you to ask me if I sell rental insurance on the side. I don’t want you to tell me how you’re feeling. I don’t want you to ask me how I’m feeling. I don’t want you to tell me or to ask me anything at all, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to get religion. I don’t want you to lose your religion. I don’t want you to laugh more or to laugh less, or to start a band, or to stop playing in that stupid band. I don’t want you to go to therapy. I don’t want you to stop going to therapy. I don’t want you to travel more, or to travel less, or to subscribe to the travel blog I’m keeping about real and imaginary trips I take and what I eat when I’m on them. I don’t want you to ask me to go to Europe with you. I don’t want you to ask me to go anywhere with you at all, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to wear less yellow or more fur or all green. I don’t want you to start or to stop eating meat. I don’t want you to introduce me to your parents. I don’t want you to buy me a coffee or play me a song. I don’t want you to tell your friends anything. I don’t want you to stop telling your friends anything. I don’t want you to always remember this night, or anything at all, unless you want to do so.

I don’t want you to start loving me if you don’t, or to stop loving me if you’ve already started. I don’t want you to burst into my wedding and to steal me away like Dustin Hoffman. I don’t want you to propose to me.

I don’t want you to change. I don’t want you to not change.

I just want you.

I want you. I want you. I want you.

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